


Midnight Blues Aka To Hell and Back (courtesy of Sig Sauer)

by outofminutes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bartender Castiel, Blow Jobs, Bottom Cas, Bottom Dean, DCBB 2014, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2014, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Nightmares, PTSD, Scars, Soldier Dean Winchester, Talk of being in war, Tattoos, The Roadhouse, Top Cas, Top Dean, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 62,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofminutes/pseuds/outofminutes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being discharged from the military more than five years ago, Dean Winchester avoided going home to Lawrence, Kansas. Now he found his car pointed in that direction, feeling broken and lost. He expected to find family, The Roadhouse, and Ellen's cooking little changed. He even expected to enjoy the feel of grease under his nails again if Bobby would take him back on at the shop. What he wasn't expecting was Cas, a sexy blue-eyed, tattooed bartender at The Roadhouse. Should they resist their attraction? If they didn't, could they survive Dean's past and the demons that followed him home?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Big Bang! Thanks to my oh so lovely beta Marmelady_Orang. We found each other accidentally on the internet and hit it off. I know I would not have been able to finish without her encouragement! Also, thanks to my artist hollowstomached. She also acted as a secondary beta which was super helpful. And also a shout out to r/fandomnatural on Reddit for being such a great group of supporters for all Supernatural fans.
> 
> See the awesome art here: http://hollowstomached.livejournal.com/1544.html

Dean Winchester found himself sighing frequently as he drove the last few miles into town. It was after ten at night but he wanted to arrive quietly and in the dark. Being unsure of his welcome, he convinced himself the dark of night on a Thursday was somehow the best time to show up at home. What was that old saying? Home is where you go and they have to take you in? Something like that. Well, Dean hoped it was true, mangled quote or not. 

He hadn’t set foot in Lawrence, KS in over five years. There were many reasons. Some valid, some not and yet, in his mind, when he finally hit that wall with nowhere else to go and nothing but demons in his dreams, the only safe place seemed like Lawrence. 

A few things had changed since he had been here last. A few new stop lights, a few new buildings and strip malls and a few familiar places, like the old ice cream shop, had closed. Nothing ever stayed exactly the same. That thought should comfort him since he was changed from when he left, but the thought only echoed in the hole in his chest. 

His feet knew the way home as if he drove the route just yesterday. The familiar roads felt less strange than did the car beneath him. He’d had to leave the Impala behind when he left, something that had been almost as hard as leaving Sam. About two years ago he had picked up an old, well maintained Ford Pinto. She wasn’t pretty and she sure wasn’t sexy like the Impala, but she had been treating him right. 

At a diner one day, he decided to look in the paper, which he rarely did. Given his passions, he ultimately found the car section and saw an ad for the Pinto. Given what was said about it, he figured it would be snapped up quickly but he called anyway. He met the old man at his house and they wandered back toward the large shed. The old man started casually asking about cars and Dean soon realized that he knew his stuff. Having grown up elbows deep in oil and wrenches, Dean didn’t hold back on his knowledge and by the time the old man asked if he should take the tarp off, Dean’s heart was beating faster. 

There she was: a 1976 two-door green Ford Pinto. Oh, she had a bit of rust here and there, and her interior seating had started to crack in places but he couldn’t resist running his hand up her door frame in reverence. The Pinto often got a bad rap in the car world, but every car model had its year, its one vehicle that defied all the odds and ran straight and true. 

When Dean glanced up at the old man, he found him smiling softly, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall.

“I think she likes you,” he commented.

Dean continued to grin as he walked around her, touching the car here and there as he moved, and looked up at the old man. “I think I like her too.”

As if coming to a decision, the old man nodded a pushed away from the wall. His eyes became flinty in the light and Dean froze near the back bumper. From experience, he knew that just because a man was old didn’t mean he didn’t have fight left in him. Dean tensed and assessed the ways out of the shed without moving his eyes from the other man. 

But the old man just laid a weathered hand on the hood and sighed. When his eyes looked up again, they were still hard, but kinder in a way. “I’ve seen about fifteen people through this shed since I ran that ad, and yet none of them has touched this car like you did.”

Dean swallowed and shrugged his shoulders to release some of the tension. “I grew up around cars. My old man was a mechanic. We restored a 1967 Chevy Impala together before I was fully a teen.”

“And you didn’t become a mechanic?” 

Dropping his eyes, Dean ran a finger over a small chip in the paint. “For a time I did, and then other responsibilities kicked in and I had to do something else for a while.” He grimaced after he spoke, not sure why he was sharing his past so easily. 

“Iran or Afghanistan, son?”

Dean almost jumped and his eyes shot to the other man’s. What he found there was gruff sympathy which actually calmed him down. Pity would have made him angry. Dark humor, which he had experienced, would have pissed him off.

He swallowed. “Afghanistan, sir.”

The older man nodded as he looked over the car. “I bought her for my son. He drove her for a few years before he joined up. Then he died in a hostage rescue in Iran.” He ran his hand over the hood, displacing the bit of dust that managed to settle there even under the tarp. “He wanted to serve his country. I don’t really know if anything went wrong on that mission but I often suppose that something did. I just hope he went quickly. I kept the car because of him.”

He noticed the way the man’s hand shook a bit as he stroked the hood and Dean set steel into his spine and looked that man straight in the eye. “I am sorry for your loss, sir.”

A ghost of a smile crept over the older man’s face. “I imagine you know something of loss as well.” As if pulled by a magic string, he stepped back from the car and settled against the wall, crossing his arms again. “You can have her for three grand.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open. “But the ad said—“

“I know what it said, son,” came the gruff reply. “You are the only person that has walked in here and lit up like a Christmas tree when you saw her. You know cars and you didn’t pretend otherwise. I watched the way you ran your hands over her. You already have ideas on how to restore her.”

Dean blushed and looked down, only to look back up when the old man chuckled. “Nothing to be ashamed of. She’s neglected and needs some care. Oh, I’ve done the basics here and there, drive her around every now and again just to prove I can, but she needs some real love.”

“But your son …”

The old man ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, now, I had to let go of him a long time ago. And now, well, it’s almost time for me to go.” His eyes were clear and steady on Dean’s. “Liver cancer. I can’t leave her here to rot or to get auctioned off. Just can’t. So I need to let her go. Find someone to take care of her.”

With his stomach churning, Dean moved around the car until he stood closer to the old man. He held out his hand, steady. “Dean Winchester.”

The other man looked him over and then took it. “Saul Caster. My son’s name was William. We called him Willie and he hated it at times.” Saul smiled in fond remembrance. “He hit high school and wanted to be “Will.” My wife and I tried not to laugh, we knew the male ego was fragile, but he was always Willie to us.”

Dean found himself grinning and leaning his backside to rest on the car. “Yeah, my little brother has always been Sammy to me. He hates it too.”

“He why you joined up then?”

He shrugged. “Partly. He had a future, wanted to go to college. Parents were long gone by then. So I did what needed to be done.”

Saul nodded as if that made perfect sense. “Sometimes our choices are made for us, but we have to make the best of them too. Otherwise we become bitter.”

Dean liked this old man. “Can I buy you a beer?”

Saul grinned wide and slapped his knee. “I’ll let you do that. But you have to promise me something first.”

His mouth went dry with fear but Dean nodded. “Sure.”

“The car is yours as far as I am concerned. Not just for you, but for my son. Feels fitting. But she needs a bit of tinkering work done before you can drive her away. I’d like to help you with that.”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Dean blinked quickly and nodded. “I’d like that, sir.”

He waved a hand in the air. “Eh, call me Saul. I may not know as much as you about cars, I know I don’t, but I’d like to touch her one last time, give her a warm send off.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “I’d be honored. Now I hope you know a great place where we can find a good burger and a beer.”

The memories served to distract and warm Dean as he drove closer to his destination. True to his word, he spent a month with Saul, working on the Pinto. Saul insisted Dean stay at his little house since he had the room and Dean cooked for them every day as payment. 

Together they tuned up the engine, replaced the brakes, fuses and spark plugs. They lubed her up, changed the oil and all the other fluids. More often than not, Dean sat on an overturned crate, some tool in his hand, as Saul told another story about his son and the car. They could have had her running in great shape in a week, but Dean didn’t begrudge those extra few weeks. He could see the fatigue in Saul at the end of the day, knew the cancer was eating at him, and yet he came alive as they sat in that shed and worked on the Pinto. 

Those weeks were some of the happiest in the last few years for Dean. He’d had the fewest nightmares in a stretch that he could remember. And the one he did wake from had the old man sitting on the side of his bed, hand hovering over Dean’s shoulder, as he sang some lullaby from years gone by. Rather than be embarrassed as he usually was, Dean felt at peace. He reached out to hold the old man’s hand as he continued to sing and he fell back to sleep to the sounds of an old rusted voice singing to soothe them both.

Dean had expected the next day to be awkward for them both but it wasn’t and he was glad for that. In return he pushed aside his own insecurities one day, taking off his t-shirt during the heat of the day, something he rarely did. He was bent over the hood of the car, muttering and cursing at some bolt that refused to let loose when he felt the light touch and stilled. 

“May I?” Saul asked quietly.

Out of habit Dean had stood up straight immediately and the old man’s hand had fallen away. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. “Sure.”

He felt the soft on and off brush of fingers first against his left shoulder and trailing down. He focused on his breathing in effort to remain still. It was quiet in the heat of the summer and sweat trickled down his spine in a slow, lazy line. 

Quietly Saul withdrew and stepped up into Dean’s peripheral vision on the left. He cracked open the two beers he had brought from inside and held one out for Dean to take. “Sometimes, I think that death might be the gentler option.”

Dean said nothing but clinked the neck of his bottle against Saul’s and took and deep drink. “She’s almost ready to go,” he said softly.

Saul nodded. “I thought so. You do have a way with cars, Dean. I hope you can find your way back to them.”

“They make more sense than people,” Dean muttered and then turned bright red, hiding behind another quaff of his beer. 

The older man laughed. “You aren’t wrong. People are hard; cars are easy. Maybe in finding your way with one you can find a way with the other. But hell, I’m an old man, so who really knows.”

“You know how to hold your whiskey,” Dean quipped, trying to lighten the mood. 

“That I do, Sonny, that I do.”

The next week they took the Pinto for a test drive. Dean wanted Saul to take the wheel but he refused to do so. So Dean drove them around town and wherever Saul instructed him to go. They had burgers at some dive just outside of town, and while the burgers were good, the coffee was toxic. 

When he got up the next morning, he felt a bit of dread in his stomach. It was time to take the Pinto and drive away from Saul. He tarried in his room, packing his duffel bag slowly but finally had to head to the kitchen. He was met with a grin as Saul flipped the last of the pancakes onto a plate. Dean couldn’t help but grin too and they sat down to eat. 

“Now don’t you be festering, boy,” Saul said around a mouthful of pancakes. “I’m not feeling a bit of pain letting you take that old gal with you. I know she’s in good hands.”

“You could have gotten three times what I paid for her,” Dean said. 

“Pshaw. Not really. All the other buyers cared about was some status symbol or some mark of a generation. You saw the car beneath that. She may not be your Chevy Impala, but I know you’ll treat her right, keep her in shape and take her on the open road.” He held up his coffee cup. “To the road beyond.”

Dean clinked his cup against Saul’s. “To the road.”

“I never asked where you were headed.”

The pancakes suddenly felt like lead in Dean’s stomach. “Home, I guess. Lawrence, KS.”

“Sounds small town,” Saul commented. “Sounds like the right place to find balance again.”

They hugged after Dean tossed his duffel bag into the back of the car. This old man had come to mean a lot to him over the last month and he was actually loathe to leave. He also felt a bit sad and wasn’t sure what to do with that feeling.

Saul pushed away first. “You go on now. You have a life to live and a car to get you there. Don’t be feeling sorry for me and don’t worry. I know I gave Willie’s car to the best man I could find. I think he would approve.” He wagged a finger. “If you get to feeling melancholy about it, you just stop in a church and light a candle for my son. Nothing more is needed.”

Never mind that it had been at least twenty years since Dean had stepped into a church, he nodded solemnly and swallowed back the tears that threatened. “I’ll take good care of her. You take care of you, Saul.”

They both nodded and Dean climbed stiffly into the car and started the engine. He hesitated on driving away but knew the older man deserved the dignity which he was giving to Dean as well. So with a jaunty wave out the window, Dean drove away, eyes glued on Saul in the rearview mirror until he could no longer see him due to the distance. And if he swiped at his eyes for a bit after hitting the interstate, no one needed to know but him. 

It wasn’t until he stopped on the second night that he realized what the other man had done. As Dean hefted his duffel onto the motel bed he decided to pull everything out and rearrange as he was headed into different weather. There he found the old black zipper bag he kept his cash in, but it seemed much fuller than it should. 

He almost fell on the floor when he opened it. Instead, he sat down heavily on the bed and pulled out the rubber banded stack of cash and the note attached. 

Dean,

When you find this, I expect you’ll be a bit angry. Don’t be. My time is close at hand and these last few weeks with you have been enjoyable for this old man. I almost forgot the doctors and the medicine. 

You’ll find your original three thousand for the Pinto here as well as a bit more. As a father, I couldn’t just let my son go, so I kept his bank account alive. It isn’t much but it should take you home in a little comfort. Try and put on a few pounds. Yeah, yeah, I sound like a nagging mom but you look a bit ragged around the edges and I can hope you show up at home a little less frayed. 

Thanks for making these last few weeks pleasant. 

Saul

 

Dean didn’t cry then though he did cuss a bit. It was two weeks later when he answered a random number on his cell phone that he did cry. One of the waitresses at the diner they frequented those weeks found Dean’s number and called him to let him know that Saul had died. It was a peaceful and quiet death though that actually brought little comfort. Dean thanked her and found his way to the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels that night. 

It wasn’t the last time he thought of Saul. In his wanderings he found himself lighting candles at random churches at random times of the day for both father and son. And each time, he found a little sense of peace. It never lasted long, but he felt content and usually slept well for a night or two after. 

Those were the thoughts that carried him to his destination. He turned off the lights in the parking lot and idled for a few moments before turning off the car. Older cars have that distinct rattle thump as they turn off and it soothed his ragged nerves a little bit. It was late summer and the rain kicked up a hazy steam on the asphalt. 

After chewing his lower lip for a minute he forced himself out of the car and toward the front door. There were only eight or so cars in the lot so he knew his choice of a late Thursday night was right. That didn’t mean his heart didn’t speed up and panic didn’t rise in his throat as he approached the door. A steady drizzle had begun a few miles out and was still going as he sprinted across the parking lot. With a deep breath he flung open the door and stepped inside. 

In five years The Roadhouse hadn’t changed much. The décor was about the same, the floors the same scuffed concrete he remembered. The far back right corner with the pool tables and dart boards. Even the jukebox was still there. But the music was a little different. A little less hard rock and a little more blues. He frowned at that and moved towards the bar, casting and eye around the place for anyone he recognized. Comforted for the moment by the lack of familiar faces, he hopped onto a bar stool as he continued to glance around. 

“What can I get you?”

Dean’s eyes shot to the whiskey rough voice that addressed him. Bright blue eyes framed by messy, almost black hair smiled at him. Was he crazy or were the tips of those shaggy hair points the same blue as his eyes? Maybe it was the light. The bartender raised an eyebrow at him and gave half a grin at his silence. 

“Oh, uh, whatever seasonal is on tap.”

“You got it.”

The man moved a few feet away to fill his order and Dean’s eyes followed. Long and lean, he was dressed in black dress pants and a tight black t-shirt. It looked like he had one of those chain things that looped from a front pocket to his wallet in the back. Hadn’t that style gone out sometime in the early nineties? Dean shook his head to clear the odd thoughts before the bartender came back.

“Wanna start a tab?”

Dean didn’t have a credit card but said yes anyway. The man made a note in the computer and gave him a two finger salute as he headed across the bar to tend to the patrons there. He couldn’t say he minded as he got a shot of the tight ass in those slacks and approved of the sight. 

Stuff it, Winchester, he told himself. You are here to see if you can be welcome in this town again and nothing else matters. Hell, for all he knew, Ellen no longer owned The Roadhouse and if that was the case, he was probably in deep shit. 

“So, what brings you to The Roadhouse, on a wet Thursday night this late?”

Dean gulped his beer as those blue eyes met his again, amusement evident. “I like places a little off the beaten track. Almost as if my car had a homing device and headed here.” He brought out the flirty, light banter he used to do so well with anyone, thinking he had lost it somewhere in the desert. 

Blue eyes grinned and leaned his forearms on the bar. “We’re good for someone looking a little off the beaten path. Not many find their way to Lawrence, KS by accident though.”

Dean shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “I like to be unpredictable.” His eyes fell to the other man’s right forearm and he leaned forward a little. “Isn’t that an Ouroboros?”

The dark headed man nodded and stretched his arm out a little. Dean leaned in closer, almost reaching out to touch without thought. Against the man’s pale skin it was done in stark black but under the low lights at the bar it also seemed to glint with the same blue as the man’s eyes and a hint of gold as well. He pulled his hand back before he could touch it without permission. It was extremely detailed and well done for the area of the tattoo.

“It is. My brother did it.” He ran a slender finger over the design, a small smile on his pink lips. “One of my first. He helped me design it and I have always been very pleased with it.”

Dean nodded for lack of anything better to do. “So you like tattoos?” Lame, Winchester, very lame. 

The other man only grinned. “You could say that.” He reached for Dean’s empty pint glass and refilled it without being asked. “But you’d have to get to know me more intimately to see some of the others.”

Chucking at the obvious flirting, he saluted the bartender with this glass. Though still nervous and uncertain, a good beer and bantering with a hot bartender had loosened some of the knots in his stomach. 

“Got a name, blue eyes?”

“You can call me Castiel.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “That your real name?”

“Quite so. My parents were a bit religiously eccentric.”

“No doubt. I’m Dean.”

They shook hands and lightning cracked across the sky at that moment, followed by the sound of rain picking up. Castiel sighed. “Welcome to late summer in Lawrence. We won’t turn you out in this weather. The owner will keep the place open until the weather simmers down but last call will be at eleven.”

Dean nodded. Sounded like Ellen but since there was nothing to indicate she was here, or even still owned the place, all he could do was hope. Even if his heart started beating fast and erratically with the thought of seeing her again. Really of seeing anyone from his past. 

“Well, if it isn’t Dean Winchester. The prodigal son returned home.”  
 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean felt all the air suck out of his lungs and his spine shot straight. The bartender’s brow furrowed and he looked at something over Dean’s shoulder. But Dean knew that husky Southern voice. He would know it anywhere. Heard it countless times in his dreams in the desert. Begged to hear it for real amid the heat and the firefights and the sand that never quite got out of his socks. 

Swallowing hard, Dean turned on the barstool. Ellen Harvelle looked much the same as he last saw her. Face possibly a bit softer with a few more crow’s feet and a few more strands of gray in her long brown hair, but her eyes were the same warm brown as always. She was dressed casually in jeans and a red t-shirt with the logo of the bar and grill. Drying her hands on a towel, she looked at him much as she always had. Perhaps a bit of relief was mixed in with the exasperation and even hinted at a tinge of hope. 

He had to lick his lips, but refused to drop his eyes from hers. His throat felt tight and his eyes burned. “Hey, Ellen.”

“Don’t you “hey Ellen” me Dean Winchester. Don’t you know what a phone is or how to pick one up? Can’t even text a damn line or two now and then? Damn boy, don’t make me kick your ass back to last week.”

And just like that Dean laughed. He felt a tension he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge melt away. He laughed as if it was all he could do and when Ellen came close he stood up and hugged her through the laughter. 

Her hand found his face and she smiled at him, eyes bright with tears he knew she held back for his sake. “Welcome home, Dean.”

“I hope so,” he said softly.

She cuffed him lightly on the back of the head and pushed him down onto the barstool again. “Don’t be stupid.” Ellen gestured a hand at Castiel as she sat on the stool next to him. “A bottle of whiskey, love, please.”

Castiel blinked at her a moment or two and then crossed the bar, coming back with two short glasses filled with a bit of ice and a bottle of Jameson. Ellen nodded at him when he gestured for her approval and poured two fingers into each glass. 

Dean swirled the whiskey around the glass for a moment before taking the first sip, closing his eyes at the gentle burn down his throat, welcomed it, felt like he was come home at last. 

“So, what’s it been, five years or so?” Ellen commented softly.

His eyes flicked up to Castiel before down into his drink again. “About that.” He didn’t really want to bare his soul before the dark haired bartender, a stranger. Not only because it was all chick flick weird but also because the dude was hot and that made it even more embarrassing. 

Ellen sighed. “You’ve been gone a long time, Dean. Castiel is family now. I won’t ask him to leave unless you insist.”

Dean rolled his head on his neck and finished his glass. He thunked it down on the bar and looked square at the other man. “If he’s staying, then he’d better pour himself a glass.”

Blue eyes clashed with green. Without losing eye contact, Castiel drew into view the short glass with ice that matched theirs. He poured them all another round and settled his hip against the lower part of the bar. Dean smirked when he realized this had been planned for. Really meant Castiel was part of The Roadhouse. It had always been a close knit group and it both irritated and comforted him that Ellen had found someone else to take what he had reserved as his special place. 

“Are you back for good?”

“Damn, Ellen, don’t even say hello or how are ya,” Dean snapped. 

“Thought that was obvious,” she replied dryly. “You’re skinny and have dark circles under your eyes. You hit US soil more than five years ago and yet none of us have heard from you since. Seems like a legitimate question to me.”

Dean’s eyes flashed with anger and he looked up at the bartender, come family. “Well, feel free to add your own two cents here.”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t have a horse in this race. Except I do care about Ellen, and Jo. And I should have recognized you when you walked in the door.” At Dean’s frown he took two steps away and reached out to the cork board there just above his head. He set an old and faded picture in front of Dean. It had been taken years ago and was of him and Sammy, Ellen and Jo in the bar and they were laughing at something. Castiel shrugged when Dean looked up from the photo. “You’re older, more tired, but you still look the same. There you look like family.”

Gripping his glass tight, Dean fought not to growl. “And what would you know of family?”

“Not much, actually. Since I found most of my family when I started here.” He slid away from the bar gracefully and nodded at Ellen. “I’m going to check the rest of the customers and close out the tabs.”

Ellen sighed as she watched the dark headed man walk away. “You’re still a stubborn mule,” she muttered. 

Dean ran a rough hand over his eyes and then his mouth. “Yeah. That hasn’t changed.”

“We missed you, Dean.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

She laid a gentle hand on his knee. “You don’t have to be. You don’t have to talk about it and we aren’t gonna ask questions. But we are happy to have you home.”

Fighting for control, Dean shuddered under her hand and then opened his eyes. “I wasn’t ready,” he said softly.

Ellen smiled gently and swirled her whiskey. “And that’s ok. Don’t get me wrong, we all worried, wondered. We saw the media footage and we knew that wasn’t the half of it. And after you refused to see Sam, well, we all worried that much more. But we never stopped hoping you would come home.”

The last bit of tension he had drained out of him. He was glad it had been Ellen. He wasn’t yet ready to face his brother or even Jo. But Ellen was as tough as she was gentle. As hard-nosed as she was tender. Deep inside he had known she wouldn’t coddle him, wouldn’t turn on the smothering comfort that so many did. Sam would do that. It was just part of who Sam was and he couldn’t face that yet. 

They sat together quietly, Ellen refilling the glasses again as Castiel bustled around the bar and the few lingering tables, talking quietly, closing out tabs and seeing patrons out the door since the rain had finally let up. Soon he was locking the front doors and hopped up onto the opposite side of the bar, a welcome smile as Ellen passed him a refreshed drink.

“I imagine Ash has finished the dishes and passed out on a prep table,” Ellen groused. 

Dean laughed. “Ash still works here?”

“He does. As if I could get rid of him.”

He saluted with his glass. “True enough. Good to know that some things do stay the same.”

Castiel rolled the glass in-between his hands, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, but Ellen had made it clear in her own way to him that he was to stick around. So he did. He watched this green eyed, sandy brown headed man with a sense of surrealism. The man was beautiful. The picture, though showing a happier and younger version, had done nothing to showcase the absolute sculpted beauty of his features, the intensity of his grass green eyes. 

The maturity and sorrow that had come with his time in the military, because that was all Castiel could attribute it to, only added to the beauty. It detracted in no way. Some people weathered bad situations well and even if they were etched into their features, it made them more stunning. Dean Winchester was one of those men. He was attracted to him in a way he didn’t expect. Ellen and Jo had often talked about the Winchester brothers and he had met Sam on a few occasions, but Dean had always remained some elusive and mysterious individual. Now he was here in the flesh and Castiel wanted to get to know him better. 

“So, what’s the plan?”

“I have to have a plan?” Dean countered. “I always found that flying by the seat of my pants worked pretty well,” he teased. 

Ellen shot him a skeptical look he knew well from years ago. It was a look she had perfected on Jo, him and Sam. “Does Sam know you are here?”

Dean eyes dropped to the intriguing swirl of the whiskey in his glass. How could he explain his hesitation, his dread? It was his job to take care of Sam, to raise him after their parents died. And now he was a wreck of his former self and couldn’t bear to show his brother the shadow he had become. 

It was Castiel that spoke. “Sam’s away on a case right now. He’ll be gone a couple of weeks. Maybe that will give you time to settle in.”

He was grateful for the respite. Castiel hadn’t looked at him as he said it and yet Dean got the feeling the other man understood the personal need to find a balance before facing certain people. 

“Where are you going, Dean?”

Even though he tried not to, he tensed up. “I had hoped to see if you still had a room upstairs I could crash in. Just until I can find a job and get settled. I’ll work any shift you need me to as payment.”

Her soft hand landed on his arm and yet her eyes were on the other man. “I would offer, but Castiel has been living upstairs for some time now. Though we have made some renovations, it’s really up to him.”

Dean’s eyes rose hesitantly to the other man across the bar. Castiel’s eyes were on the drink in his hands. Fear gripped Dean tight and a cold sweat trickled down his spine. This was home and he had nowhere else to go. If they turned him away, he was afraid of how he might react, as fragile as he was feeling now. 

Dark lashes lifted to reveal blue eyes that were carefully neutral. He nodded. “It’s still a work in progress upstairs. We finally have a full kitchen and bathroom. The spare bedroom isn’t in the best shape and only has a pull out couch, but you’re welcome to it.”

Swallowing his sigh of relief, Dean nodded. “Thanks.”

“Hey, you’re family, right?” Castiel hopped down off the bar and set his glass in the small dishwasher. “And if Ellen doesn’t need any shifts covered, you can always help with the renovation upstairs.”

Dean nodded again. Manual labor was something he could easily get his hands and mind around. The simplicity of working with his hands always centered him. “That works for me. I like working with my hands.” And a hint of a blush rose across his cheeks and he had to look away from the other man. 

Ellen tossed back the last of her whiskey and handed the glass to Castiel. “Settled then. Why don’t you show Dean upstairs and I’ll close out the till.” She rounded the bar. “And, Dean. You go see Bobby tomorrow. Late morning would be a good time.”

Dean swallowed hard again and nodded. His heart was starting to beat faster and he was worried about a panic attack so he stared steadily at Ellen, reminding himself of her connection to him, of her unchanged self.

After a momentary hesitation, Castiel nodded and rounded the bar. “Follow me.”

With a casual glance over his shoulder at Ellen, who was absorbed in counting the till, Dean followed Castiel to a door on the far left of the building marked “Private.” They headed up the long flight of stairs and the floor opened up before them. Dean stopped.

“This is different.”

Castiel grinned. “Yeah. In exchange for my rent I convinced Ellen to let me gut the floor and start over. My goal is to have three small but separate apartments that can exist alone but also have a common area for everyone to gather, mingle or throw a party without interfering with everyone else.” He shrugged. “The place seemed right for it with the big windows and exposed brick and with it being an attractive college town, it made sense.” They were in what Dean assumed was the common area given the dimensions and general raggedness in front and to his right. But to his left was a door and a solid wall. “I’m a little behind on meeting my goals with Ellen so I really wouldn’t mind the help.”

Dean followed Caste into his apartment, the casualness of the place hitting him immediately. Golden wood floors complemented the exposed brick and large windows. The other man had little furniture but Dean didn’t judge him for that. 

“Living room here. Kitchen and bar seating. No real dining room or eat in area. Behind the kitchen is the master bedroom and bathroom. To right here is a small hall and then the spare bedroom. It’s small but has its own bath with a shower stall.”

Dean looked around and was very happy with the surroundings as they headed to the spare room. Even noticing that the walls that were not brick had been mudded and sanded but not yet primed, he felt a sense of peace. He’d stayed in motels for money that were a lot worse than this. Castiel moved forward toward the dark green couch and tossed off the cushions and reached down to pull out the sofa bed.

Castiel grunted a little as he pulled out the queen sized bed. Dean was so quiet he wasn’t sure what he was thinking. As the bed folded out, he found Dean on the other side, helping him to guide the metal fittings and set the bed in place. He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I’ve got sheets and blankets in the linen closet. I’ve slept on this bed and it’s not that bad. If you want to run downstairs to get your stuff—“he tossed Dean the keys”—I’ll get the sheets.”

Dean caught the keys. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

Feeling like he was in a fog, Dean headed into the parking lot to grab his large duffel bag and backpack. It was all he had. After being in the military he learned to pack light and make due. He doubted he would do differently anytime soon. He was still convinced he might have to pick up and move on within an hour. Having few possessions made that much easier. 

When he made it back upstairs, Castiel man was smoothing a grey comforter over the bed and fussing with another blanket at the end. He straightened and seemed nervous when he realized Dean was in the doorway.

“I put the summer comforter on and added a blanket at the end. I haven’t slept in this room so I don’t know if it runs hot or cold,” Castiel said in way of explanation. “Especially since it has no window and the exposed brick.”

Dean licked his lips and swung his large duffle bag down. “That’s cool. I can sleep almost anywhere. Thanks for having me.”

“It’s not a hardship. You’re family enough. Like the cousin I’ve never met but have heard all about.” He smiled as he turned back from the door. “I put fresh towels in the bath. I hope you sleep well.”

Watching the other man’s retreating back, Dean hoped he slept well too.  
 


	3. Chapter 3

Years of military training had Dean waking up early. Slightly disoriented he kept his breathing even as he reached beneath the pillow for the gun he refused to sleep without. Yeah, it was a crutch and he knew it but it kept him from freaking out on more than one occasion. 

His senses took in the darkened inner room, the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the faint scent of drywall mud. He breathed a deep sigh and unclenched his hand from around the gun.

Dean sat up in the bed and scrubbed his hands through his short hair. He’d always kept it pretty short and the military only continued to drill that into his head. Standing up, he stretched and glanced at his watch to see the exact time. It was only six. He should probably try and get more sleep but knew that was likely impossible. His mind never let the second sleep be a good one. 

He tossed a t-shirt on over his loose pajama pants and decided to hit the kitchen. If Cas was still asleep he could just get some water, or maybe start coffee. He had no idea what type of schedule the other man kept. As a guest, he wanted to be respectful. 

Moving silently on bare feet, he headed to the kitchen. The natural light of the day filtered in from the large windows and he took a moment to admire the simple beauty of the day. He registered that coffee was already made in the pot and glanced quickly around for his host. He saw him sitting on the floor very near a window where some of the best morning light was coming in. 

A heavy coffee mug had been left on the counter by the pot and he smiled a little at the unexpected hospitality. It was a deep, rich blend and he silently thanked his host as he needed this to get moving today.

Hesitating and shifting his feet for a few moments, Dean finally steeled himself and walked silently toward the couches. Castiel was sitting cross legged on the floor, hunched over what appeared to be a sketch pad. His dark hair was more tousled than it had been last night. He was wearing only a thin white shirt and Dean thought he could see the darker markings of tattoos underneath. Interesting. 

“Good morning, Dean.”

Dean practically squeaked and almost splashed his coffee. How had the other man heard him? He’d been sneaking up on people since he was young. Those skills had been further honed by the military.

“Mornin’, Cas.”

Cas glanced up at him briefly, a shock of dark blue eyes under a fringe of dark hair and continued to sketch. Dean moved around him until he came around to the couch. He sat facing the other man, but far enough away as to not intrude on his activity. 

“I trust the pull out bed was satisfactory?”

Dean hid his grin behind his coffee cup. Who talked like that? “It was great. Beats lumpy motel beds infested with who wants to know what.”

He saw a small smile grace those soft lips but the other man continued to draw. Biting his lip, Dean adjusted on the couch and tried to get a closer look but still couldn’t really tell what he was working on. 

Castiel straightened his back, very aware he shouldn’t sit in this slumped over posture. When he awoke early it was with the itch to sketch and taking in his intense desire for his new roommate and the restlessness that caused, he sought out the early light by the living room window. As he rolled his tight shoulders, his eyes met Dean’s. 

To Castiel he looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. He was sure that Dean didn’t mean to or want to appear that way, but that was how Castiel interpreted his sudden and utter stillness. It was as if the ex-soldier was trying not to even stir the air with his breathing.

As if pulled by an invisible and graceful string, the dark headed man moved fluidly to his feet and tossed the sketch pad carelessly on the coffee table as he headed toward the coffee pot. “Tell me what you think of that sketch,” he offered. 

Dean set his coffee cup down and eagerly snatched up the sketch pad. It was a simple charcoal sketch, done in both bold and soft lines with a little shadow and shade. He was surprised to see it was of profiles of him and Ellen sitting at the bar side by side, half turned to each other as they talked. It was like perfectly reliving the scene from last night. Dean swallowed hard, stopping himself from running his fingers over the lines on the page. 

Castiel watched from across the room as he sipped his coffee, his deep blue eyes catching the carefully schooled features cross Dean’s face, only broken by the original shock of surprise at the subject of the picture. He could see the faint tremble in the other man’s hands as he held the drawing. 

The moment he woke that scene came into Castiel’s mind. It was right after Ellen had told Dean they hadn’t stopped hoping he would come home. After she spoke those words, an invisible shield had lifted from the man and Castiel felt like he had a glimpse of what Dean Winchester might have been like before he left for the military.

Green eyes deep with emotion met his. “It’s great, Cas. Really great.”

Castiel shrugged and moved to sit on the loveseat across the coffee table from Dean. He watched as Dean very carefully set the sketchbook down and picked up his coffee. Not usually a morning person unless driven by his craft, Castiel was unsure of what to say next. He didn’t mind silence but knew that many others found it uncomfortable.

“You worked for Ellen long?” Dean asked, for lack of anything better to say.

“Hmm. Almost three years now I think.” He grinned. “I wandered in, a bit lost and bit worse for the wear and there was Ellen. Next thing I knew I had a hot meal and a job starting the next night. “

Dean nodded. “That’s Ellen for you. She challenge you to the drinking game?”

Castiel laughed. “She did and I won. I think that might be the only reason she hired me.”

Surprised, Dean whistled. “You beat Ellen? Shots? I might have to see how this miracle took place.”

The other man set down his coffee cup and curled into the corner of the couch. “Yep. Vodka. Isn’t my favorite by any stretch of the imagination but I did prevail. She was suitably impressed. So was Ash.”

“Good ol’ Ash. I can’t believe he’s still around. I was sure he’d have drunk himself into the grave by now.”

“Or been arrested by the NSA,” Cas agreed. 

Dean shook a finger at Cas in agreement. “Or that. He still hacking into anything and everything?”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “He needs very little encouragement to do so.” Then he was overcome by a big yawn.

“Not a morning person,” Dean teased. 

“Not at all,” came the quick reply. “Only when plagued by my artistic demons. I’m convinced I was given a demon for a muse.”

“That must suck. The military has me trained well. I should be out on a run right now.”

“That I agree with. The only other thing worth getting up in the early morning for in this infernal Kansas summer.”

Dean bit his lip. “Wanna go for a run? I mean, I don’t know how far you usually go or your pace but would be nice to stretch my legs after the last few days of long drives.”

Getting to his feet, Cas nodded. “Why not. About five miles do you today to loosen up?”

“Sounds good. We’ll find a pace once we hit the street.”

“Great. See you in five.”

Dean gulped down the last of his coffee as the other man headed into the bedroom to change. He dumped his coffee cup in the sink and headed for the bathroom. A quick change into shorts and running shoes and he was ready to go. Nervous, of all things, but ready to go. A run sounded just like the thing to clear his head and get his thoughts straight before he went to see Bobby. What he wasn’t sure about was the visual distraction of running with the sexy bed headed bartender. 

Castiel waited by the door, flipping through a bit of mail on the entry table set for that purpose. He glanced up and grinned, dropping the mail down without another thought. “Ready? I thought we’d take my mostly flat route today. Neither of us have had much sleep and the long, straight stretch will warm us up and get us loose. 

“That works. Lead on, Swami.”

Following Castiel out of the building, he was assaulted by the humidity still lingering in the air. Not a natural runner, he preferred the warmer and wetter weather to run in, so the slap of humid air didn’t throw him. Most runners preferred a dry heat, but Dean found he had a harder time breathing in that environment. Oh, he could and would run in it, the military saw to that, but he only began to enjoy a run when it was creeping up in humidity.

The streets were only lightly wet and the cars still damp from early morning dew. There was little breeze, but the fresh scent of grass and trees hung in the heavy air. He drew a deep breath into his lungs and closed his eyes on the exhale, welcoming the scents of summer and home. 

Castiel cocked his head as he watched Dean. The other man was interesting to him. Not only due to his beauty, but also in the way he seemed to react to the seemingly everyday things that surrounded him. It was like a puzzle where the pieces were based on a reflection and almost everything was the same color and yet you had to find the tiny differences to distinguish the real picture from its reflection.

Dean felt himself blush as he opened his eyes to find Castiel watching him intently. He has been so relaxed he simply let himself breathe and be. While that should be a good thing, he was instantly uncomfortable that he had let his guard down so easily.

“Uh, you wanna start with your warm up pace and then in a few minutes we’ll see if we can push it? I haven’t run religiously in a long while so I’m probably out of shape.”

The other man’s eyes flitted up and down his body. “I doubt that. Yeah, I’ll lead and anytime you feel like pressing the pace, do so.”

At that he took off at a slow jog and Dean easily caught up. They headed out of the parking lot and to the right. For a few moments Dean felt his body protest the effort and running seemed extremely awkward and then it was as if everything clicked. His body settled into a rhythm, his mind let go and focused on his breath, and the pounding of his feet. After a few minutes he upped the pace and the other man easily kept up.

A few minutes later and it was Cas that pushed the speed and Dean was glad his body responded without too much protest. After that they found a natural rhythm that worked for both their strides. Dean kept half a pace behind since the other man knew the route and he did not.

If he took less than several passing glances at Cas’s lean frame he would be lying to himself. The other man was built leaner than he himself, but it was a sculpted lean with muscles easily at play under his skin. On forearms as he had served drinks with last night, in the graceful tightening of his calves as he ran. It seemed as if he was a natural runner, someone that was likely to understand that runner’s high everyone talked about and yet Dean had never managed to find in any of his runs. 

What Dean did like was the burn in his legs, his lungs, and pushing himself to keep a pace. Liked the way he could clear his mind and focus on passing the next target ahead, of keeping his breath and pace even and smooth. 

Castiel was very aware of the other man half a pace behind and to his left. Not only was Dean beautiful, he possessed the body of a fighter. Broad through the shoulder, flaring down to slimmer hips. However, the man did have a nice ass on him as well. Cas could almost imagine sliding himself down between those muscular thighs, cupping that firm ass as he bent over to take Dean into his mouth.

His pace almost faltered and he cursed under his breath. He didn’t even know if Dean liked men. And, really, the man had just returned home after a long interval and seemed to be wrestling with a few of his own inner demons. The last thing he needed to deal with was knowing the man down the hall wanted to jump his bones.

His running partner was the reason he got out of bed early this morning. He was driven to draw him, to capture moments on paper. If Dean had taken the time to turn back a page or two he would have found the first drawing of the morning. It was his face only in slight profile, lips slightly parted, his eyes cast down at the bar and the smattering of freckles on his face hinted at beneath the slight stubble. 

Cas had endured his own fair share of trouble. Ellen had been one of the first and last things to help put him on a different road. He could see the despair in the other man that he knew firsthand. That didn’t mean he knew how to help or even if he should try.

Dean lost himself in the slap of his shoes on the pavement; the huff of his breath in and out of his lungs. The drip of sweat on his back and across his brow. Running was simple. He had forgotten that. When everything else was hard, was confusing, was drowning him in murky waters, running was still easy.

He followed the other man around one last curve and smiled to himself when he saw The Roadhouse in the distance. They kept pace until they hit the edge of the parking lot where, without talking, they stuttered to a slower jog and finally a walk to the back of the building. Breathing hard, they paused at the back doors, catching their breath and stretching lightly. 

Dean shifted his eyes quickly when the other man stretched his arms high overhead and his shirt rode up to reveal a dark trail of hair against pale skin. He swallowed and turned his head farther away moving into a different stretch and hoping the other man hadn’t noticed. 

Cas watched the other man stretch, watched those firm muscles move and shift beneath tanned skinned. He grinned. “Well, glad to see you made it, soldier,” he teased.

Whipping his head around, Dean scoffed. “I am surprised I was able to do so.” He looked down and patted his abdomen. “Got a few too many burgers and beers I need to work off.”

His skin heated up as the other man’s eyes roved down his frame and back up again. Heat, arousal, curled in his belly as those blue eyes lifted back to his and smirked at him. “Looks pretty good from where I stand. But you’re welcome to join me in the mornings if you feel otherwise.”

Stunned speechless was an unusual feeling for Dean. He was sure that the flush creeping up his neck was visible and couldn’t be attributed to the recent run. More interesting was the way the other man ducked his dark head almost shyly and dug in his pocket for the key.

“I know you have an appointment to keep,” Cas started as he unlocked the door. “Why don’t you hit the shower and I’ll make breakfast.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Cas shrugged as he led the way up the stairs. “Even I can’t screw up scrambled eggs, toast and fruit.”

Dean chuckled. “Ellen hasn’t tried to make you into a part-time cook yet?”

“Oh, she has,” he said lightly. “It hasn’t stuck.”

“What? Ellen taught me how to make everything from burgers to pot roast to anything on a grill.”

Those blue eyes flicked at Dean over the other man’s shoulder as he unlocked the apartment door and went inside. “The only thing that stuck was baking. I can bake anything you want. Other than that I appear almost hopeless.”

Dean almost groaned as the cooler air in the apartment hit his heated skin. His leg muscles pulsed and tingled and he thought that was a good thing. His body and mind felt a little more relaxed and he hoped he could hold onto that feeling. 

“I put some toiletries in your bathroom this morning. If you’re missing anything just let me know. Want another pot of coffee?”

Dean clasped a hand to Cas’s shoulder as he brushed by toward his bathroom. “Coffee would be great. And thanks.”  
 


	4. Chapter 4

Cas groaned quietly and ran his hands through his hair and over his face once Dean disappeared. He found the ex-soldier too appealing and what was with ogling him like obvious eye candy anyway? Hell, it had been too long since he’d gotten laid. Too long since he had found anyone he was interested in for sure. 

He could tell Dean was somewhat fragile from whatever life had handed him in the last few years. But he was also family. Maybe not technically to Castiel, but he was family to those Cas considered family and it was good enough for him. It was why he let Dean stay. Ellen had phrased it in a way that she let him know she would like Dean to stay, so they could keep an eye on him, but that it was up to Cas to make that call as he had to share space with him.

Turning on the burner beneath the skillet, he pulled out butter and eggs. He set a generous pat of butter in the pan to melt and refreshed the coffee pot. Honestly he wondered why Dean had said yes. Intellectually Cas realized the other man had few options and yet he knew how easily pride could war with those options and fuck things up. 

The water from the shower pulsed on and Castiel sighed and glanced over his shoulder. He could either focus on the thought of the water running over that hard, freckled body or he could distract himself whipping up eggs. He turned his mind to food and promised himself a good fantasy later. 

Groaning, Dean arched into the hot water and let it run over his body. He was more out of shape than he realized, but ridiculously pleased he had kept up with Cas. Looking at him it was easy to see that Castiel ate well and worked out. The bartender was lean, graceful, and able to bust out a five mile run without much thought. He found that ridiculously hot and his hand slowly maneuvered down to his cock. It gave more than a half interested twitch but he sighed and reached for the shampoo instead.

Cas was hot and he was a bartender in a college town. He probably had girls, and maybe boys, throwing themselves at him every weekend. He probably didn’t lack for company. Why would he turn his eye to a washed up ex-Marine with too many issues to count? 

Dean hadn’t gotten laid in long time, probably three years, maybe longer. It didn’t seem worth the effort anymore. And then, when he did turn to his hand in frustration or desperation, he found little relief. So that too waned and he simply wondered if that was broken in him as well. The heat he felt when he looked at Cas gave him hope that wasn’t the case, even if he couldn’t act on what he wanted. 

The fluffy grey towel made him pause and think of the bartender that was now his tentative roommate. Of how that tattooed skin, almost black hair, and blue eyes would look wrapped in the cloth before he could forcibly remove it and push him back onto the bed. Dean gave a strangled laugh and the eyes that met in his in the mirror were a little too bright and too wild. 

Moving quickly, he headed into his room and pulled out the gun beneath the pillow. He walked himself through the drill of popping out the clip, racking the slide, making sure the gun was both safe and loaded. He refrained from putting one in the chamber. Those simple actions, the press of cold metal in his hand, cooled his head and slowed his racing heart. He tossed the gun down lightly on the bed.

Fighting a silent scream, he raked his hands through his hair and breathed in and out slowly and deeply. He could smell the scent of fresh coffee brewing, hear the light sounds of the other man moving in the kitchen, and the fear slid from him in a deep exhale. 

Dean had few clothes and he knew he had to meet Bobby today. Ellen had commanded and he would do it. It was likely she had called Bobby to let him know and if he didn’t show there would be hell to pay. He only owned three pairs of jeans, two light and one dark. He pulled out a light pair that was less worn and then tugged on his favorite faded Led Zeppelin shirt. Heading into a salvage yard meant flip flops were out so he pulled on thin wool sock and his well-worn work boots. 

Taking a deep breath, he headed into the kitchen. The other man was humming as he slid eggs onto plates already full of cut strawberries and toast. Dean moved to the coffee machine and wordlessly poured two mugs, leaving a bit of room in one in case the other man needed cream or sugar. 

Cas smiled softly. “Good timing.” He handed Dean a plate and eyed his shirt. “Classic rock fan, huh?”

In comfortable territory, Dean flashed him a cocky grin as he nestled his hips into the corner and grabbed a fork. “Nothing better, man. Last night it appeared that Ellen still agreed. Most of what I heard was respectably old school.”

The other man leaned a hip against the opposite counter and sipped his coffee. “Most of the time. You might hang around on Sunday nights and see what happens.”

Frowning, Dean bit off of a hunk of generously buttered toast. “What happens on Sunday night?”

“Why would I ruin the surprise?”

“Dude. Don’t tell me she went all country or some shit.”

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh at the distraught and disgusted tone in Dean’s voice. “Not that at all. She found a way to make Sundays appeal to a wider variety of people. The music draws in those folks that wouldn’t come out on a Friday or Saturday night because of the rowdy college crowd but still managed to appeal to those that want to get a dinner out without staying out too late before work on Monday.”

“Hmm. Sounds mysterious.”

“Nothing quite so esoteric.”

Dean raised a sandy eyebrow. “You talk way too fancy for a bartender.”

Hiding his smile, Castiel rinsed his plate in the sink and then put it in the dishwasher. “You don’t strike me as a book and cover guy, Dean.”

“Huh?”

“Cliché, I mean. You don’t strike me as someone who buys into the cliché.”

Swallowing hard he put down his plate and picked up the coffee cup. “I guess I’m so used to ragging Sammy that it comes natural.”

“Sam does have a propensity for making one pick on him.”

Dean rolled his eyes and picked up his toast. “Now you’re just being an ass.”

“I’m going to hit the shower.” Castiel glanced at the clock and then his gaze seemed to zoom in on Dean who came to complete stillness beneath that pointed gaze. “I know this is home, but do you need directions to Bobby’s?”

Slight panic rolled over him and Dean glanced down into his coffee. “No. As long as he hasn’t moved locations, and I can’t imagine that he has, I can find him.”

Cas nodded. “I have some errands to run today before my shift. That key on the table with a blue dot by the door is a spare. Be sure to take it with you in case I’m not here when you return.”

“Yeah. Uh, and thanks Cas. For having me, I mean.”

“Dean, it’s clear that you are family. I might not know you myself, but Ellen wouldn’t invite someone to stay that she didn’t trust.” He glanced at the floor and back up, hoping he was conveying the sincerity of his thoughts. “Ellen gave me a chance when so many others even refused to talk to me. So…welcome home Dean Winchester.”  
 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean left the apartment while Cas was still in the shower. He was a little unsettled from dealing with the other man. Not in a bad way, on the contrary, it was in a good way and that seemed to unnerve him further. It was unusual, yet not completely unwelcome, and yet he had to push that to the side and focus on what he was supposed to do. Good soldier that he was, he did just that. 

Parked in a local coffee shop parking lot less than a mile away from Bobby’s, he sat and contemplated. He knew he couldn’t walk in empty handed or he would freak out. So he bought a small decaf tea, knowing he’d had enough caffeine, and his heart was beating hard enough. 

Currently in his hand was his beloved gun. It was sad that it was such a comfortable crutch. He wanted to tuck it into the back of his jeans, he knew his t-shirt was long enough to cover it, he knew how to carry his body to cover it, but he also knew he couldn’t do that to Bobby. 

So right now he caressed the Sig Sauer P229 9mm. The tag ‘to hell and back’ was more than true. This wasn’t a typical concealed carry gun but he was a big enough guy to find a way to pull it off. It went with the thirteen round magazine; a backup always in his pocket. He closed his eyes. Caressing the gun always made him feel safer, saner. But he couldn’t do that to Bobby. 

Softly, carefully, Dean put the gun into the glove box. But he did slip the spare magazine into his right front pocket. He wasn’t unaware of his own state. Yeah, he had both lost weight and gotten soft from the burgers and beer. So he slipped the magazine in the front pocket, knowing he could hide it and knowing it also gave him a sense of grounding and comfort. 

Sure, it was fucked up. Sure, he was fucked up. But he’d walked up to an old friend and found a place to stay. He’d shared breakfast with a man he found so attractive it hurt and he willingly drove a barely restored Ford Pinto onto Bobby Singer’s lot. Anyone who wanted to challenge the size of his balls was welcome to step forward. 

At nine forty-five in the morning it was still relatively quiet. Apparently Friday morning wasn’t a peak time in Lawrence, KS. Dean’s steps faltered and he knew it. The triple garage bay doors were all raised due to the rising summer heat. He could smell motor oil, transmission fluid, and the scent of tires and something in his gut relaxed a little further. 

Stepping inside the first bay he saw and heard someone mutter about rusted bolts and old engines. He set a shoulder to the wall and tried to respond in a mostly neutral voice. “Not hopeful, but sounds like she needs a transmission.”

A metallic bang followed by “balls” came from under the hood. Dean couldn’t hide his grin as a graying head incased in a baseball cap and framed by a graying beard swung his way. His cocky grin faltered at the flabbergasted look in the other man’s eyes. 

“Dean? Damn boy, where have you been?”

And Dean was caught unaware in a hug of Old Spice, motor oil and family hope. He wanted to wriggle and scream and buck away but he stood as firm as he could, remembering the magazine in his pocket. Yes, this was home. It smelled like home. Tears gathered in his eyes and he gripped Bobby harder so that no one would see the tears that threatened.

Bobby clung back, feeling the tremor in the younger man. Neither of them were the feelings type but this was different. This was war coated in politics and the slippery slope of family. It was always the men and women individually that suffered no matter the outcome. So he clung and he watched the signs to see when he should let go. Bobby was an old man now and he never wanted to let go.

Dean managed to step back and offer a version of his trademark cocky grin. “Sounds like an old engine with a rusty bolt or two is taking you for a ride.”

Bobby shrugged. “Foreign car. You think you can do better?” He swept a bow toward the car and tossed Dean the rag over his shoulder. “You’ve got two hours. Mrs. Meyers is a bit of hassle but always comes to us. She’s punctual too. Don’t be late.”

Moving forward with a sense of purpose, Dean slung the towel over his left shoulder. It was the one thing he remembered from his mom. Though only about four when she died, he couldn’t cook or do anything messy without a towel slung over his left shoulder. To him it wasn’t a handicap but a sense of pride and ritual. He doubted that Ellen saw it but something told him Cas would. And why would he even think of that?

Finally he lost himself in the set of the wrench, the twist that loosened a tough bolt, and the feel of engine grease on his fingers. He was bent waist deep in a car, muttering curses when he sensed a selective presence behind him. Tensing, he stood up and glanced over his shoulder.

It was a hesitant Castiel that stood in the bay’s doorway with bags in his hand. Dean steeled his gut but moved forward and wiped his hands on the rag over his shoulder as he approached the other man. It was more for something to do than because his hands were that dirty.

Castiel cleared his throat. “Ellen knew I had to head this way and insisted I bring you lunch. She seemed to know that Bobby would put you to work immediately and disregard her instructions.”

Grinning, Dean reached out for the bags. “My guess is loaded burger in one and a BLT in the other for Bobby.”

This time the grin between them was conspiratorial. “Something like that. Though put to the rack, I refuse to admit my participation,” Castiel offered.

“Fair enough,” Dean nodded. “I’ve played this game before. You do your errands and I forget you stopped by.”

The twinkle in those green eyes convinced Castiel to nod with a wide grin and head back to his car. Who knew that the smell of grease and gasoline could be a turn on? Not to mention watching Dean lean over a car in tight jeans and let loose with strings of curse words only fit for back alleys. 

Something that he had seen in the set of Dean’s shoulders gave him hope. Seeing him bent over that car was the closest to truly relaxed he had seen the other man. Dean Winchester was as much an enigma as his younger brother was an open book.

***

The day came to a close and Bobby shut the shop just before six. Rolling his shoulders, Dean enjoyed the faint ache there and in his lower back. He could feel the sweat pooled in different places on his body but that didn’t lessen the sense of accomplishment that he felt. Mrs. Meyers did need a new transmission but they worked out a deal for her. And that made him feel good too.

“Don’t tell me that ugly ass green Pinto is your ride?”

Grinning, Dean stepped just outside of the last open bay door. “Yep. She might be ugly, small, and a few paces behind the big guys but she’s done me well.” He ran a hand lovingly over her hood. “She’d been well taken care of, well loved, when I found her. I have a legacy to maintain.”

Bobby only nodded, hearing the hint of sorrow and pride in the younger man’s voice. He also knew something about legacies and paying it back. It was a story he wanted to know, but one that would come out when the time was right. He dug his hands deeper into his pockets and scuffed the ground with his boot. 

“I’ve got her if you want to see her.”

Dean whipped around, pure joy on his face. “She’s still here?”

“What else the hell would have I have done with her?” Bobby groused. “’Course she’s here.”

Hesitating, Dean scrubbed at his hands with the rag once more. The Impala was his baby, was a connection to his dad and to Sam and to the man he no longer was. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face her. 

“She still running?” he asked softly.

“Idjit,” Bobby grumbled. “Yeah, she runs. Either Ellen or I take her for a weekend here and there, keep her on the road and moving. She probably needs a full tune up and a bit of fussing over, but she’s well enough.”

Dean nodded. That was the best he could manage. He finally lifted his eyes from the rag and looked at Bobby. “I appreciate it. Kinda thought Sam might take her at some point.”

“Nah. She’s always been yours, Son. Always.”

“She’s waited this long. I hope she can wait a bit longer. I’m not quite ready.”

Bobby nodded, eyes narrowed in contemplation. “She’ll keep, Dean.”

“So, you headed over to The Roadhouse for dinner?”

“Hell no! Ellen would tan my hide for keeping you all day. I’d as soon go home and eat my frozen dinner and keep my balls intact.”

Laughing, Dean clapped Bobby on the shoulder. “I’ll show her I’m still in one piece.”

“One thing though.” He ran a hand over his beard, eyes sharp on Dean under the ball cap. “You still want to get your hand into restoration?”

“Uh… yeah. I haven’t thought about it in awhile but I do love the older cars. There’s a market there, especially with the garage to supplement it.”

The older man nodded. “Why don’t we talk more Monday? Job’s yours if you want it. I’m shorthanded anyway and bunches of college kids are about to descend for the semester.”

Another lock in Dean’s gut popped open. “I’d like that. I’m staying at The Roadhouse and promised to help Ellen with shifts for my rent until I can get on my feet.”

“No worries. We’ll work around it until we find something that works.” Bobby laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “We’re all just glad you’re home.”


	6. Chapter 6

Feeling lighter than he had in a long time, Dean drove the Pinto with the windows down and Led Zeppelin blaring from the cassette tape. He was tired and sweaty and felt more alive than he had since before he joined the military. 

The parking lot of The Roadhouse was already filling up. Friday nights had always been a good night for any bar and grill and The Roadhouse delivered cold beer, good food, and a casual atmosphere. He parked, around the back this time, next to a beat up Honda Civic he assumed belonged to Cas. Smiling, he made a note to show his roommate what a real car was like. 

Needing a shower, he slipped toward the bar first to catch Ellen’s attention. She nodded him over and wrinkled her nose. “Take a shower. But tell Cas to head down any time. His shift doesn’t start for almost an hour but we’re getting busy early.”

“Will do. I’ll come down. Dark jeans and a dark shirt ok?”

She reached beneath the bar and tossed him a black t-shirt with the logo on the front. “That’ll work for tonight.”

Dean saluted and headed up the stairs. He lost himself in thoughts of the cars he had worked on earlier, the comfortable weight of the tools in his hand and how he hadn’t panicked after that one time. Smiling to himself, he acknowledged that maybe coming home was a good idea after all. 

“Cas?” he yelled once he opened the door. “You up here?”

“What?”

His eyes caught the flail of pale limbs and dark tousled hair on the couch. He huffed a laugh and headed toward the bartender who was fighting to untangle himself from the blanket and stand up. Coming to a stop, he drank in the sight of Cas clad in only black boxer briefs, tousled, and warm from sleep. Heat pooled low in his belly and he had to bite back the urge to slip down onto the couch with the sexy bartender. 

Castiel blinked hazy eyes and scratched a hand over his abdomen. “Dean?” His voice was low and even rougher than usual.

He stepped even closer, though he tried to tell himself not to. Cas’s skin was pale and lean with muscle, covered with more tattoos than he expected. Rather than a turn off, he wanted to trace each one first with his fingertips and then his tongue. Cas only gazed at him with half lidded eyes, unselfconscious in his almost nudity. 

Dean bit his lip and came to stand right next to the other man. Before he could stop himself he reached out and touched the spiked up tips of that dark hair. “They really are blue,” he breathed. 

Castiel stopped breathing the moment Dean stepped next to him. He found himself instantly awake and every sense heightened. He could smell sweat, engine grease and the earthiness of the other man. It was even more arousing than before. It didn’t help that he was already half hard from his dozing dream and now the subject of that dream was running his fingers through his hair. 

Biting his lip to stop a whimper, Cas closed his eyes and tried to appear only groggy from sleep. He felt the swirl of air as Dean took another half step closer. 

“I thought I was out of it last night,” Dean said, breath close to Castiel’s lips. “I thought the spiked tips of your hair seemed to glow blue beneath the bar lights and assumed I was tired from driving and seeing things.” He twisted a strand in his fingers and pulled, rewarded with a half strangled gasp. “Like that, hmm?”

Opening his eyes, Cas found Dean standing way too close, invading his space with his body and his heat and yet all he wanted to do was drown in it. The other man tugged on his hair again and their eyes clashed. Cas had to swallow and make a decision. Did he speak or did he leave it alone?”

“Yes,” his voice came out almost like a growl. “Yes, I like that.”

“Mmm.” Dean slid his hand out of the almost black hair and trailed a finger over the tattoo in the center of his chest. “Me too. But I came up here to tell you that Ellen wants you to come as soon as you can.”

“You said it that way on purpose.”

The grin was quick and seductive. “And?”

Narrowing his eyes, Castiel closed the gap between them – which was not much -- by half. “I imagine you’re to be my bar back tonight. I’ll be sure to ride your ass appropriately.” And he turned and walked away.

Dean took a deep breath and shuddered. Castiel was not only hot but intense as fuck. He closed his eyes, swaying with the arousal that flooded his body. This wasn’t desperation or frustration, this was want. Pure and simple want. And it appeared that Cas wanted him back. That thought made him smile and head for the shower.

***  
By ten that night Dean was not only tired but smelled like beer and ketchup. He forgot how hectic Friday nights were with young parents on date night, singles out looking for love and lust, and the drunks just looking for a cool place to drink. He groaned as he rounded the bar with another fresh crate of glasses. Though they had a small dishwasher machine at the bar, they had to get assistance from the back on nights like these. 

Sliding a glance at Castiel, he had to duck his head and smile. The other man ran the bar and it was obvious to Dean from the moment he had stepped downstairs. It had been many years since he worked behind this bar, or any bar, but the basics remained the same. There was a grace, a dance per se, to being a good bartender and Castiel had it in spades. He could smile and wink and hold up a finger, all to the right customers at the bar at the right time. He never lost track of an order and he never failed to soften the wait with the sweep of dark lashes and a shy smile. 

Used to taking charge, Dean also knew when he had a good sergeant at the helm. A few early fumbles, which Cas only slid a look at him for, and he found himself back in the rhythm. Cas ran his bar with a smooth marine-like drill and Dean could respect that. It was an intricate dance in which each player had a part. Not only Cas and Dean, but the servers that interacted with them and the customers they often had to dance around as well. 

Cas had promised to ride his ass and he did, but only as was customary and needed. He was a fair taskmaster and saw to as much himself as he asked of others. He mostly had Dean pouring beers and shots, reserving the mixed drinks for himself, occasionally asking Dean if he knew how to make this or that to test his knowledge. 

Dean kept the various types of glasses stocked, chopped lemons, limes and other fruits as needed. Ellen approached the bar close to eleven and Cas barked at her. She flicked a hand in the air at him and headed back to the kitchen, but not before Dean caught her wink at him. If he hadn’t been sure before, he was now. Cas was family. No one got away with that much sass at Ellen unless they were family.

“Now’s a good time to duck out the back door and take ten.”

Jumping at the growling voice in his ear, Dean almost smacked into Cas. “Uh.”

Castiel grinned. “You’ve earned it. Grab a slider from Ash, they keep ‘em in the back for us and get in the fresh air. We’ve still got the last rush to go.”

Nodding, Dean headed without question to the back. It was actually Ellen that met him and handed him a slider before following him out the back. They sat on the concrete while Dean inhaled the burger and Ellen glanced up at the sky.

“You holding up ok?”

Dean snorted. “Would Cas have put up with me this long if I wasn’t?”

Ellen gave a cross between her “mom” and “you’re screwed” smile. “Fair enough. Took you about an hour but you clicked.”

Dean rested his head on the building behind him and closed his eyes rubbing his head against the rough brick. “Yeah. Like fiddling with cars. Just gotta find your pace, where you fit in.” He bit his lip. “Cas is good.”

Leaned back on her hands, she sighed. “Yes, he is. Like a drowned rat when he came in the first night. All big eyes and skinny limbs. I almost kicked him out and then the guy next to him at the bar said something about the novel he was reading for a night class. Something by Tolstoy I think. This guy was pompous anyway, full of hot air and whiskey. He’d been lauding his opinions at us all night. We all just hummed and rolled our eyes, keeping with the routine. But there was Castiel, barely enough cash in his pocket to pay for his beer and he responds in this quiet but firm voice.” Ellen smiled broadly in memory. “He refuted the other guy’s points, quoted the book and challenged him an intellectual, quiet way. We all started hovering to see what happened. I hadn’t read the book but Ash had. He was the one that convinced me. After almost an hour Ash snorted and said the drowned kitten was right and the other guy was a pompous douche.”

“Then you gave him a burger.”

Ellen blinked. “He told you that?”

Dean shrugged. “Not quite in so many words. Told me he came in and you fed him. I assumed it was a burger.” He smirked. 

She smacked him on the shoulder. “I do make the best in town.”

“Heard he won. Vodka shots.”

“Little shit,” Ellen muttered. “He did. The kid’s tolerance for alcohol is immeasurable.” She frowned. “Guess he’s really not a kid any more than you are.”

“I haven’t been a kid for a long time,” Dean reminded her softly.

“Neither has he.” She stood up. “Better get back inside before the boss bitches.”

Dean groaned as he stood up. “Thought you were the damn boss.”

Ellen raised her eyebrows. “Not six days a week behind that bar I’m not. Get a move on, Winchester.”

He slid back behind the bar, the music wrapping around him and pouring beers as soon as Castiel caught his eye. For a moment they met shoulder to shoulder, pouring drinks. 

“Thought I said ten minutes.”

“Was outside with the head honcho. Expect me to buck that?” Dean teased. 

Those blue eyes were bright and hot as he took half a step closer. “And I bet she told you that behind this bar I own your ass. And own it I will.”

Dean swallowed his desire as his heart sped up. He was getting in over his head with Cas. Usually he could hold his own flirting, male or female, but this guy seemed to have the ability to make all his honed skills fly out the window. He cursed at the beer he was pouring overflowed the glass and swept his eyes at the other man, who only shot him a smirk.

***  
Almost three hours later Dean was groaning underneath his breath and Cas looked almost as fresh as when they started. Only because Dean had watched him so closely could he see the slight hesitation in the man’s hands, the ragged edge to his quick smile. 

Ellen made her nightly appearance to confirm it was indeed closing time, having previously stepped foot thirty minutes prior to herald last call. Cas was a gentle but firm taskmaster, cajoling those who tried to tease him out of one last drink. His responses with their check were both practiced, but sincere, and no one offered more than a joking grouse. 

After dumping off a load of dirty dishes in the kitchen, greeted by the bitching of the dishwashing crew, he headed back to the bar to help Cas with last minute payouts and clean up. Seeing Cas engaged with a customer at the other end of the bar, he took a moment to slide onto a stool and close his eyes. Several hours bent over a car followed by almost eight hours on his feet had him feeling his age. 

“On the house,” a deep, but soft voice said.

Dean opened his eyes to see Castiel sliding a shot glass of whiskey across the bar. The other man smiled a tired smile and saluted with his own shot glass. After that Dean didn’t hesitate to slam it down and appreciated the burn and the slight revival it offered.

“You held up well tonight,” Castiel offered in a low voice. 

Saluting with his shot glass, Dean graced him with a Winchester smirk showing that exceeding expectation was normal. “Yeah, I did.”

Cas fiddled with the shot glasses before leaning over the bar within a few inches of those insolent green eyes. Cas bit back his grin when they widened minutely and shot from his eyes to his lips and back up again. “Oh yeah, you did well babe,” he crooned. “But this was Friday night. You think you can keep up with me tomorrow? I hope so. I hope so enough you’ll lay me a bet.” His own dark blue eyes, tinged with seduction, slid down to Dean’s full lips and lazily back up to his eyes. Two could play this game. 

Swallowing heavily, Dean reached down to touch the magazine in his right front pocket. His heart still beat fast and he wanted to reach out and tug on the blue tips of Cas’s hair again. Registering his own progress, he shifted his hips, which subtlety put him an inch closer to Cas’s lips. He wasn’t panicking now and he was remembering what flirting was meant to be. What it was meant to feel like. 

He licked his lips and noticed the other man’s eyes flicked to follow. “A bet? Name the terms.”

Having tended to all the remaining customers, Castiel slid his forearms casually onto the bar, bringing him in close contact with the other man but careful not to touch. “I don’t usually bet money,” he offered.

Dean shrugged with a smirk. “I don’t have much of that anyway so you would be out of luck.”

Deciding to be bold, Cas slid a finger under the military ball style chain that Dean wore that was barely visible even under a t-shirt. He felt the other man tense so he only ran his finger in a half curl, not enough to remove the chain but enough to get attention. Their eyes met and held.

“Ok,” Cas breathed, his voice hoarse and low. “I win and I want to see you without the shirt.”

Blinking, Dean wasn’t sure how to process that. He had expected more but he fought the urge to frown, even as he fought the urge to back up from the finger around his chain. “You might not like what you see,” he admitted, after steeling himself. 

The other man shrugged and let go of the chain as if he knew the strain it caused. “It’s my condition.”

Nodding, Dean leaned forward a bit more, eyes darting to Castiel’s lips and back up again. “Ok. And if I win, I want the story of the tattoos on your chest and back.”

With an easy grin, Castiel leaned back, a light in his eyes. “Done. Tomorrow night starts at six. Your ass better not be late, Winchester.”


	7. Chapter 7

Rolling over, Dean groaned into his pillow, honestly grateful that his room didn’t have a window. His guess was that it was too early to get up so he rolled over, snuggled down into the comforter and relaxed his body in seek of sleep.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” sang out a deep and cheerful voice. 

With a different type of groan, Dean rolled away and curled himself into a tighter ball. He felt the bed shift next to him and then the scent of mint toothpaste and the faint hint of beer teased his nose. 

“Come on, Winchester. You wanted to run with me.”

Rolling over, he came eye to eye with an impious Cas. “You are evil incarnate.”

“Nope. Just keeping you honest.”

Dean growled and slid upward, which had the effect of setting the other man off kilter and sliding half across his body. They both stilled and their eyes met. Dean was aware that he was dressed only in boxers and Cas was in running shorts and a thin t-shirt. The comforter between them felt as light as air. 

“Cas…” the tone was full of longing and need. 

The dark headed man hastily stood up from the bed and ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. “Sorry I slid over you there.”

Dean sat forward and started to speak but stopped when Cas backed up. He looked at him in confusion and uncertainty.

Castiel ducked his head and frowned. He didn’t want to step back but he had too. Taking a deep breath he met those confused green eyes that threatened to swallow him whole. “It’s not a no.”

“Felt like a no,” Dean frowned. 

Nodding, he spread his hands. “I understand exactly how it could seem like that. I very much want it to be a yes, but I also realize we have more between us.” At the other man’s expression, he sighed. “Ellen. Jo. Sam. The Roadhouse.”

Had a brick landed on Dean’s head he couldn’t have felt more dense. “We both have a lot to lose.”

“One would hope a lot more to gain as well.”

Needing him to understand, Dean met the other man’s eyes straight on. “I’m broken.”

Cas took a moment before slowly nodding. “We all are. It’s a matter of degrees.”

He remembered what Ellen had said last night. “Maybe.”

“Well, uh, do you still want to go running?”

Dean shook his head and didn’t miss the slight disappointment in the other man. “I think I need to run some errands, take care of some things. But I will see you again at six sharp.”

“I look forward to it.”

***  
About a quarter to six Dean was sitting on the couch, fidgeting and watching the clock.  
He was excited and nervous in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was uncomfortable and it was good and he almost couldn’t process it. Ellen had thrown another shirt at him when he arrived earlier in the afternoon, this one a steel grey that he knew went well with his eyes. 

He refused to deny that he wanted Cas. He’d known the man less than three days and he still wanted to bend him over the couch, bite his collarbone and feel Cas moan beneath him. There was a lot to lose. Cas was family now, in a way that Dean hadn’t been in years, and yet Dean was tired, so tired, of fighting against what he wanted, of walking away and of picking the hard road. 

Saul flitted into his head and he smiled softly. He kept the note from the old man in a safe place in his bags. Now and again he pulled it out and ran his fingers over the words. He could close his eyes and still hear the words the old man spoke about his wife and son. Remember the way he held his hand when Dean awoke from that nightmare. 

Doing what was necessary, Dean had gone off to war, followed the rules, led his men and came out a broken shell of what he had been before. No one expected that, least of all him, but he also never expected to come home and meet a man with the name of an angel. 

Standing up, he let his hand brush over the full magazine in his pocket and headed downstairs. This was a bet he intended to make the best of, whether he won or lost.

***  
Around one in the morning Dean was cursing the live band and their blaring alternative music. A classic rock fan himself, he was still open to other genres, even admitting he found an artist here and there he could appreciate outside the scope. But this band was loud and obnoxious and honestly not all that talented. 

He heaved a large tray of glasses back behind the bar and started to slide them into their places. Standing in one place for so long allowed the ache in his feet and lower back to settle in and join the pounding headache he currently had. The only bright spot in the evening was the way that he and Cas had flirted and danced around each other all night. If their looks got any hotter, one of them was going to catch fire. 

A slow grin lit his face as he felt an arm sneak around him to reach a glass. He didn’t expect the slight frost in those eyes as the empty glass was handed to him. The night between them had been warm and Dean hadn’t done anything he was aware of to cool off that heat.

Cas flicked his head towards the end of the bar. “The trio of ladies would like to be served by you. One of them says she thinks she knows you from high school.”

Frowning, Dean glanced down the bar but his gaze was hampered by low lights and the pounding in his own head. His eyes flicked back to Cas and he licked his lips. “Uh, ok. Any idea what they want?”

“Besides you? The brunette in the middle usually goes for white wine or a martini, dirty. The other two are new to me.”

Cas slid out from behind the bar to check on the few high top tables they had. For a moment Dean stood frozen, confused by Cas, confused by the frost and uncertain what sort of trap he was heading into. However, he swallowed and put on a well-practiced Dean Winchester grin and approached the ladies. As he got close, he realized he did recognize one of them, had dated her briefly, and he cursed under his breath. 

Leaning on the bar, Dean let his eyes sweep over all three ladies in appreciation. Never let it be said he didn’t do his job as well as possible. “Ladies. Welcome. Cas must have kept me away from the bar so that I didn’t see you.”

They all laughed lightly and the brunette in the middle leaned closer, dark brown eyes shining and a wide smile aimed at him. “Don’t you remember me Dean Winchester?”

“Only a fool would forget you Lisa Braeden. Only a fool. You look good.” And she did. He wasn’t saying anything that any reasonable person seeing her after ten years wouldn’t say. “What can I get you ladies?”

Wiping off a table, Cas knew it was useless to feel any envy. This morning had proven to him how much Dean was attracted to him. Just because some hot chick from his past waltzed in didn’t mean that Dean would forget about him. But as his eyes flicked to the other man, he did wonder. Dean seemed comfortable, suave and practiced as he made their drinks and kept up a light banter. 

Cas logically knew it was something that all good bartenders did. All of them had a routine, a practiced smile, a few well-placed lines and a look that worked. For Cas it was the big blue eyes and sincere shrug that said he wished he could serve them more. For Dean it was the swagger, the brash good looks and the easy flirting. Didn’t mean he had to like it. 

This morning it had been so hard not to stay leaning over Dean and meet the other man’s lips. He knew Dean wanted it, could taste the desire in the air. But Dean was fragile, he was family to his family and he was unknown. Over the years Cas had heard stories about Dean, of his player lifestyle, of his conquests and his easy way with both men and women. He was lucky that his family was comfortable with his sexuality as so many others didn’t have that luxury. But, due to his own history, Cas didn’t do sex casually and he also knew that was not a point in his favor. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like sex, he definitely did. And he certainly liked it better with men than with women, and yet he couldn’t just let go and have a one night stand. Something told him too, that Dean didn’t need a one night stand. Or even a week long fling. Not that the other man realized that. And wasn’t that really the crux of the problem?

Cas grunted and winced as a hand slapped the back of his head. “You stare at him any harder and he’s likely to come where he stands.”

“Ellen!”

“Boy, I was having sex before you were born so don’t try that tone with me,” she countered. “You really don’t need to be that obvious either.”

He ducked his head. “I know.”

Her hand came to rest on his arm. “But I have also seen the way he looks at you,” her tone softened as she stepped closer. “He looks at you like he’s drowning and you’re a life raft.”

Licking his lips, he briefly closed his eyes, uncertain about talking to her and uncertain not to. “He told me this morning he is broken.”

Those brown eyes didn’t waver and her lips pursed. “What did you say?”

“That we’re all broken. That the difference is only a matter of degrees.”

Her smile was bright and Cas had to blink. “You’ll do, Cas. You’ll do.”

He was turning after her to place a hand on her arm when she wanted to leave. She took in the look in his eyes and nodded. So many thoughts ran through his head at the same time and he settled on, “Dean was family first.”

The warm hand that covered his was followed by a soft and sad smile. “I don’t know the man that walked into my bar the other day. I know the man he was. I see glimpses of the man I knew.” Her eyes flicked to the bar. “Like now. I saw this routine for years. He means none of it and all of it. The Dean I knew could flirt with anyone and make it seem like it mattered.” And her eyes met his again. “And the Dean I knew would never admit to anyone that he was broken. You’re both family and I don’t want to lose either of you.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to be forced to do so either.”

All he could do was nod and take a step back. Her hand on his stopped him. “But I also will fight tooth and nail for you both. When I said that I see the way he looks as you, I’ve never seen him look at anyone else like that ever. But you need to know it won’t be easy and it won’t be pretty and it could even get bloody.”

Looking across the room, he couldn’t stop himself from looking at Dean before he looked back at Ellen. “He’s….”

“Beautiful and broken and worth walking over coals for? It’s what you’d better be thinking if you even want to try.”

“PTSD?”

“Without a doubt.”

“What’s in his right front pocket?”

Ellen shrugged. “No idea. It’s a crutch, something that keeps him grounded. And he has no idea we know.”

“When is Jo due back?”

This time her eyes narrowed on him. “Why?”

Cas’s eyes were stubborn. “Nothing gets under your skin like a younger sibling. Sam’s too close to Dean’s upper thoughts at this point. But Jo, unless I am wrong, Jo is like the younger sister that Dean never wanted to have. And that is useful.”

Ellen’s shrewd gaze met his. “Yes. I see. A few days maybe, at the most. Probably Monday. She’d come home sooner if I called.”

He shrugged. “No need. He’s getting his bearings and I have him off kilter enough. I hope.”

She laughed. “Oh darling, you do. But both of you together is brilliant.” Then her eyes turned serious. “Are you sure?”

Unconsciously, Cas touched the tattoo that was nestled at the base of his breastbone. Ellen noted the movement but kept her features schooled. His eyes flickered to hers and then back to Dean as he charmed the women at the bar. “From the moment he walked in.” His voice lowered and Ellen strained to hear. “When I walked in, you took me in, and I had no idea why. When Dean walked in the door, I knew why.”


	8. Chapter 8

When Dean dragged his aching body upstairs it was close to three in the morning. He had no idea how active the small town of Lawrence was on a Saturday night. Cas had been noticeably absent the last half hour or so, not that he was looking for the man or anything. But it struck him a little odd and made him a little grumpy.

Opening the door, he tossed the key on the small entrance table and turned, only to be stopped in his tracks by the sight that awaited him. Cas sat on a stool, leaning back against the eat-in bar, framed in the dim kitchen lights and surrounded with the sounds of slow jazz. The smile on those pink lips was both sympathetic and soft.

“Whiskey or beer?”

Dean was frozen in place, half swaying on his feet from fatigue and more than half aroused by the welcome. Dressed in low rise jeans, torn at the knee, and a black tank top, Cas’s appearance reduced Dean to thoughts of nothing but sex and sleep and more sex. 

Grinning, Cas reached behind him and produced two beers, which he popped the tops off. “I think whiskey would have you asleep in less than a minute so I vote beer.”

Moving forward to take the beer, he tried to find his own rhythm. “Don’t want me to fall asleep too quickly, eh?” he teased.

Turning to face him as he slid onto the other bar stool, Dean found himself less than a foot away from those incredibly blue eyes and gulped a bit of beer. Cas smiled softly and bumped his knee against Dean’s. “We have a bet to settle.”

Dean set his beer down and ran his fingers over the neck of the bottle. He bit his lip. “If I’m honest, and I rarely am, I’m fucking beat.”

“Didn’t you expect that?”

“Eh,” Dean shrugged. “I like to think I’m younger than I am.”

Cas laughed, something deep and throaty, and Dean’s groin leapt in response. “Don’t we all like to think that?”

“Dude, I must have you by about five years.”

Raising an eyebrow, Cas set down his beer and subtly invaded Dean’s space. “Try me.”

Dean licked his lips, tired, half tipsy and drawn in by the subtle bow curve of the other man’s lips. Without meaning to, he shifted closer. “I’ll be thirty in January.”

The other smile was softer even and a thumb came to trace his lower lip. “I’m already thirty.”

“The fuck?! Dude you could pass for twenty five easily,” Dean grumbled. 

Sweeping a finger down Dean’s jaw, Cas cocked his head. “So could you, if you would sleep.”

Abruptly, Dean grabbed his beer and moved away. Cas had obviously pulled up the blinds from the floor length windows and he moved toward them with purpose. He needed space, he needed to breathe and yet he wanted to kiss the other man senseless. What he didn’t know is if it was what Cas wanted. 

Yeah, this morning he had gotten that vibe. Gotten it so hard it played in his head all day and teased him until he went downstairs. And then when Cas told him to tend those girls he felt left out in the cold.

“You can change the music if you want,” Cas’s deep voice offered. 

Dean crossed his arms over his chest but didn’t turn around. “No, this is good. Much better than the band tonight.”

The huffing laugh from behind him relaxed him. “Not one of our better choices. I doubt they will be invited back.”

“Why invite them at all?” he asked. 

Cas turned on his barstool to face Dean, even though the other man had his back to him. “Ellen likes to invite local talent. Ok, well, local bands. We’ve lucked out and have a few regulars during the college season. We agreed this was a bust.”

Turning from the darkness of the sky behind him, Dean moved to lean against the wall by the big windows. It cast him mostly in shadow but with a slight hint of moonlight across his face. Castiel was captivated by the understated beauty.

“I hope tomorrow is better.”

“Tomorrow?” Cas asked. 

Dean rolled his shoulders to loosen the tightness. “Yeah. You mentioned something about a surprise on Sunday.”

Cas hid his smile behind his beer. “Yeah. The Sunday set has been going on awhile. Seems people like it.”

Polishing off his beer, Dean gestured to Cas for another and grabbed two from the fridge. “Ellen’s a shrewd business woman. She wouldn’t keep what didn’t work.”

Eyeing him as he rounded the kitchen and sank onto the couch, Castiel decided to follow. Sitting on the same couch as the other man but at the opposite end, he curled himself slightly but if either of them stretched out their feet they would touch.

Dean sprawled like a typical male, legs splayed, slightly slouched down with his beer resting on his stomach. Liking the masculine sprawl, Cas imagined sliding over Dean’s lap until he felt the other man’s breath catch and realized he was actually doing it. 

His eyes popped open in surprise to meet those green depths. What he saw was desire tinged with fear so he leaned forward so that their lips were only a few inches apart. He licked his lips and saw Dean’s fall open in response. His heart was beating fast but he was guessing Dean’s was as well from the response of his body.

Not wanting to move positions, he leaned his arms on either side of Dean’s head, his beer dangling dangerously from loose fingers. “I think I want to kiss you.”

“You think?”

The edge of incredulity in his voice made Cas grin and shimmy closer. He watched Dean’s eyes close and his head fall slightly back, and a feeling of burning need built within in his gut and begged to be released. 

The hand that pulled hard in his hair caused him to gasp and open lust blown eyes. He met green eyes almost as lust blown but tinged in uncertainty. “I have a lot of jagged edges,” Dean growled almost into his mouth. 

Cas relaxed into the touch, knowing anything else would be taken as a sign of struggle. “Let me touch you for a while,” he breathed. 

He bit back a whimper as the hard body beneath him shuddered in response. Taking that as acquiescence, Cas slowly ground his hips down onto the other man as his mouth found his neck. The hand in his hair let up but never left and he took that as permission to continue. 

“You smell like whiskey and lemon,” he breathed. 

Dean’s hand clenched on Cas’s hips. “They forced me to take lemon drops with them.” Suddenly his hand tightened and Castiel found his head forced back to face those eyes. “You liked that,” Dean commented, surprise lacing his voice. 

Cas didn’t even try to hide the desire that flooded him. “Oh, yes, Dean.”

“I didn’t want to talk to them, serve them. I didn’t want to do the lemon drop.”  
“I can taste it. I’ll accept that you didn’t want to do it but it tastes good.” He slid his hand beneath Dean’s t-shirt as he said it, not sure of his reception but needing to feel the flesh beneath. 

The hand in his hair clenched once before letting go and he found the tank top being peeled from his body. Cas arched as the shirt left him and found Dean’s lips on his collarbone and it was his turn to bury his hand in Dean’s short hair. 

Pulsing around them was the sensual beat of jazz music. Dean delighted in the feel of Castiel’s mouth on him and the feel of his pale flesh beneath his own roughened hands. When his hands found the curves of Cas’s ass, he wasn’t prepared for the keening moan the other man released and had to bite his own lip in order not to come. 

His eyes slit open as those graceful hands slid under his t-shirt. He was rock hard and the sight of Castiel on top of him, mouth parted in desire, cheeks flushed with want gave him a jolt of both desire and panic. 

Cas felt the stillness beneath him and willed himself to stop. He breathed deeply through the desire and opened eyes to look down at Dean. He was rewarded with lust darkened green eyes, a tanned chest with nipples pebbled beneath his fingers and the hint of fear in the air. 

“We can stop, Dean,” Cas ground out, his voice low and wanting.

“I don’t want to stop,” the other man growled. 

“But you need to, yes?”

Closing his eyes, Dean let his hands drop limply to the couch. He felt his erection recede and he felt not only impotent but also incompetent. He ground the back of his head into the couch and reluctantly opened his eyes. 

“Probably.”

Shifting slowly and carefully, Cas stood up. “It’s ok, Dean.”

“Is it?” The bitterness laced in his voice bit at Cas’s heart. 

“Yes, it is,” he said firmly, meeting Dean’s gaze. He smiled and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t usually jump into bed with someone I just met either.”

Dean took the offered reprieve. “A sound practice.” He stood up, but away from where Cas stood. “I don’t think I’ll be up for a run in the morning.”

Cas picked up their beer bottles and headed toward the kitchen. “Me either. I usually take Sunday mornings off. Depending, Ellen might make pancakes.” He grinned at Dean over his shoulder. “Something tells me there will be pancakes for us at brunch time.”

Finding a grin, Dean headed toward his room, heart both light and heavy. “Sounds awesome. ‘Night Cas. See you in a few hours.”

***

The scream that woke Cas reminded him of a fatally wounded animal. It was not a sound he ever expected to hear a human being make and he was on his feet and heading for Dean’s room before he could properly process the urge. 

He flung open the door and the dim light from the hall nightlight showed the other man thrashing in the twisted sheets and uttering sounds that no human throat should ever make. Still uncertain but determined, Cas moved to the side of the bed and called his name. That did nothing. He shouted louder, still nothing. Hesitantly he reached out to touch Dean’s shoulder while calling his name. 

Gasping, Cas found himself flat on his back on the floor, Dean crouched over him with a hand at his throat. All he could think to do was repeat a litany of words that Dean might recognize and begin to pray.

“Cas?”

He closed his eyes as Dean sat back on his haunches with a puzzled expression. “Yes, Dean. Cas from the bar. From The Roadhouse. We’re in Lawrence, KS in Ellen’s bar. You’re home and you’re safe.”

“Fuck.”

Cas found the other man’s weight immediately lifted from his body and he let out a silent sigh of relief. His whole body trembling in the aftermath of Dean’s assault. 

“Cas, I’m sorry. What the hell we’re you thinking?”

Blinking, he stayed still as he watched the other man pace over him in the dim light. “You were screaming. I called out. I called out louder and you didn’t respond. So I tried to touch your shoulder,” he explained. 

Dean stopped pacing and bent his head into his hands. The other man watched the shuddering, the guilt, and the remorse flit through the soldier. Even knowing the outcome, he would do it again, because no person should ever make those noises.

Cas blinked a few times at the hand held out to him before he gripped it and let himself be pulled to his feet. “I am sorry. It’s not wise to touch me when I have those kinds of nightmares,” Dean offered.

“Noted,” he replied. “Can I get you anything? Water? Milk? Beer?”

Giving a self-conscious laugh, Dean ran a hand through his short hair. “Thanks but no. I’ll be lucky to fall asleep again anyway. I don’t usually have a nightmare again so you should be able to sleep.”

Cas nodded. “I think it might be a good idea to leave the door cracked. The bit of light might help you.”

Nodding, Dean swallowed. “Sounds good. Thanks, Cas.”

“Yeah. See ya later this morning.”

Dean stood stiffly in the bedroom for a few minutes after Cas left. Other than Saul no one had experienced one of his nightmares. He didn’t know how to respond or how to feel or what to say. He finally settled for heading to the bathroom to relieve his bladder and splash water on his face. 

When he slid beneath the sheets again, he was instantly wrapped in the lingering warmth. He curled up and bit and exhaled, forcing his body to relax. Closing his eyes he called to memory a Star Trek movie and began to replay it, finding this was one of the best ways for him to go back to sleep.

After a few minutes he had begun to relax but was not quite asleep. He felt the bed dip behind him and warm body come close but not quite curl against him. It was the arm that slid over his hip that did bring him up to semi-awareness. 

“The Ouroboros was not the first tattoo,” that whiskey soaked voice slightly startled him and then he found himself exhaling and sinking deeper. “That one was done by my brother. I’ll have to take you by his shop sometime. He would like you. The first tattoo was actually the one on my chest. It’s a Tibetan Buddhist symbol called the Dharmachakra, or often referred to as the Wheel. I can’t say I’m religious, even if named after an angel, but I do study a variety of spiritual concepts. I liked the symmetry of this symbol and felt it advantageous to my life. My brother wanted me to get the symbol for fertility but this one spoke the most deeply to me.”

Vaguely Dean realized that Cas was telling him about his tattoos. They never had settled the bet earlier. Smiling, he relaxed further back into the other man, allowing himself to focus on Cas’s hand on his stomach, even if it was through the blankets, and the whiskey warmth of his voice as he slowly sank again into sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

When Dean awoke again, he was vaguely aware of the fogginess in his brain that the nightmare left behind. His internal clock told him it was later than he usually slept and he was actually glad for that. The soft sigh that came from behind him caused him to slightly tense before he remembered that it was Cas. The scent of cinnamon and stale beer confirmed it. He bit into a grin and rolled over as slowly as possible not to disturb the sleeping man. 

Up close, those inky eyelashes laid across his pale cheeks indeed made him look angelic. The sexed up bed hair added a hint of devil and Dean was instantly taken. Cas was still sleeping on top of the covers but he had cuddled as close as the covers allowed and still had an arm slung over him. 

Leaning forward he laid his lips over the other man’s, finding them soft and lax in sleep. He nipped gently and was rewarded with a half groan and one blue eye slitting open at him. 

“Get under the covers, Cas.”

Cas’s eyes closed and he snuggled closer but didn’t move under the covers. “M’ok here. Thought it best not to sully your virtue.”

Dean laughed softly at that. “I haven’t had any virtue left for many years.” He shoved the covers around and down, before pulling them over a grumbling Cas. Apparently someone was not a morning person. 

The sleepy warmth that was the other man snuggled closer, his head coming to rest on Dean’s shoulder, one arm sliding over him and one leg nestling in-between his own. Though it was comforting and warm, Dean also found it highly amusing. Cas was like an overgrown octopus.

“Quiet, Dean. It’s too early for pancakes so there is no reason to get up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your mind is moving miles a minute. Must be dreadful to be a morning person,” he groused. 

“Dunno, Cas.” Dean shifted his hip slightly. “Seems that part of you likes the morning.”

A sliver of blue opened up to glare at him. “Perfectly natural reaction to waking up in bed next to a hot soldier.”

He was warm and comfortable and not as disturbed as he usually was after a night with a nightmare. Going with the urge, he shifted slightly so that he could bring his lips to the Cas’s pale neck. If the immediate response of said man tilting his head to the side and tightening his hand where it lay on Dean’s side was anything to go by, he was not totally opposed to these morning activities.

Dean licked and sucked and nipped down his neck to his collarbone. Cas gracefully shifted to give him greater access and pressed his hips up into Dean. Trailing his hand lightly down Cas’s side, he teased his fingers over the elastic of the boxers the man wore before sliding his hand underneath. 

“Dean,” Cas gasped. 

Still licking and nibbling, Dean took Cas’s length in his hand, starting with a soft and slow stroke that mimicked the motions of his mouth. He was pleased to find that Cas was vocal and encouraged him with moans and whimpers and barely audible words. 

“Like this?”

“Yes, Dean. God, yes.”

Shifting slightly, he raised up half over the other man to have better access to his body. He nipped at Cas’s stubbled jaw, delighting in the taste and angles of the other man’s body. It was his turn to clench his eyes and gasp when nimble fingers ran over his cock through his boxers. He kept his eyes closed, fighting the dizziness that came from the sensation. It had been a very long time since he had touched anyone or allowed anyone to touch him in this way. Both the relief and pleasure were almost painful.

Inhaling Cas’s scent, he found his head spinning with desire. Cas smelled like dark spices, sandalwood and a hint of sunshine. He wanted to bite and mark Cas as his, to pound him into the mattress so that he couldn’t walk for a week. 

“Dean, please.” Cas twisted beneath him.

“Cas, I need…”

“Oh, yes.”

Reaching down Cas wiggled out of his boxers and then tugged Dean’s down as well. Both men groaned as their cocks slid next to each other, hot and slightly slick with pre-come.

It was Cas that took them both in hand, his eyes open and on Dean’s face so that when Dean opened his eyes again he was trapped in that intense gaze. He already felt the burn low in his stomach and grit his teeth to last just a bit longer. 

“I’m not going to last. Been a long time,” Dean ground out. 

“Hmm. Long enough for me to taste you?” came the growling response. 

And that was it. Dean bent his forehead to Cas’s shoulder and came, biting back the shout that threatened to escape. As the edges of the white hot heat of his own release pulled back, he was aware of Cas arching beneath him, gasping his name as he tumbled over the edge. 

They laid in a tangled, sticky heap as their breathing evened out. Still pressed up against each other as if neither could bear to move away.

“I really did want to taste you.”

“Fuck.” Dean barked out a half laugh, grimacing at the sensitive slide of his body against Cas’s hip. 

Cas combed a hand through Dean’s hair, eyes bright with amusement. “Maybe next time then.”

“Definitely next time.”

“Now that you have me in your bed you aren’t letting me out?” came the teasing response. 

“Something like that. Except for food. I need food.”

Sitting up, Cas glanced around, unaware of how adorable he looked with the tousled bed hair. “Didn’t realize there wasn’t a clock in here.”

Dean stretched his body, enjoying the slight popping of his back and the way his muscles felt fluid and loose. “About nine thirty or so.”

Cas blinked at him like an owl. “What?” Dean muttered. “The military sort of drills it into you.”

The other man shrugged and stepped out the bed, unselfconscious in his nudity and Dean took the opportunity to slide his eyes over the whole length. Cas really was beautifully made, long and lean muscles with a jut of sexy hipbones that he wanted to lean over and nip at. 

“If we expect breakfast, we’d best get down stairs in the next half hour.”

“Shit.” Dean scrambled to get out from under the covers and frowned as the other man laughed at him. ”What? I know Ellen Harvelle. Show up late and you get dish duty. And that’s if you’re lucky. Meet you at the door in twenty?”

Nodding, Cas cocked his head at him, an unreadable, but slightly amused, expression in his eyes. “I’ll see you there.”

Groaning, Dean ran his hands over his face and headed to the bathroom, aware of their mixed semen drying on his stomach. He’s just had sex with Cas. Quick sex but still sex. He could admit to a slight amount of shame. For a guy who mostly specialized in one night stands, he was sure to never leave his partner wanting. And though he knew Cas had come, he himself preferred a longer ride.

But Cas had mentioned it happening again and he had agreed so at least he had a chance to redeem himself. With that thought, he turned on the water for a quick shower goaded by the deliciousness that was homemade pancakes.

***  
Dean pushed opened the door to the kitchen, Cas on his heels. He had taken in the wet hair, the amused blue eyes and the casually faded blue Superman t-shirt over really faded, really tight, really ripped jeans. Flip flops bared his feet and Dean had to mention to himself that he had never considered feet to be sexy. Not until now. 

“Winchester,” a voice called out. “You cut it closer than I expected. Two minutes to go.”

Grinning broadly, Dean swaggered ahead of Castiel toward the grill. “I’ve never been late for your pancakes a day in my life, Ellen. I have impeccable timing.”

Ellen grinned back and slid her eyes over both of the young men striding into her kitchen. Dean was all braggart and suggestive motions, but Castiel was more subtle. It was the glint in his eye, the slide of his hand through his hair and Ellen knew something had happened. Knew enough not to comment but to tuck it away.

“Grab some plates, love.”

Without thought Dean turned to a certain cabinet since he wasn’t quite sitting down and as his hand touched the handle, he fumbled and stepped back. It was as if the last few years crashed in on him at once. It had been ages since he was in this kitchen and yet it felt like home as his limbs moved in unconscious response.

Cas and Ellen exchanged a quick glance. “Cas, while Dean gets the plates can you fetch the accessories?”

“Sure.”

Knowing Ellen well, Cas ignored the fact that both butter and maple syrup were warming on the counter. “Do you have any of that homemade strawberry jam left?”

Ellen professionally flipped a few pancakes. “Look on the bottom shelf. And I think Bobby is coming so you better grab the real whip cream too.”

Doing their dance, Ellen and Castiel avoided looking at Dean. He was able to relax and grab plates from the shelf he expected them to be on. It wasn’t that Dean expected them to be there that was the problem, it was that he was uncomfortable with his unconscious gesture. 

The tension wasn’t all that thick when he walked in but Bobby assessed the situation quickly. “You forgot I asked for orange marmalade, didn’t you Ellen?’

“You old coot,” Ellen shot back, plating pancakes and bacon expertly. “Try the strawberry jam, it’s better.”

Grousing, Bobby headed toward the wide stainless steel table they normally ate at and poured a cup of coffee. “So you say. Did you harvest the damn strawberries yourself?”

Ellen laid plates heaped high before all three men. “Jo did. You want to tell her it wasn’t a good crop?” Ellen challenged.

Bobby hid his grin and took a reprieve behind his coffee cup, making his voice gruff. “Naw. She’ll be back soon and you’d tell her what I said. Pass me the damn jam, Castiel.”

Dean watched in disbelief as the factions of his family worked around him as a unit. They didn’t seem to notice his hesitation or stillness or awkwardness. He started to relax as he swirled maple syrup over his stack of pancakes. He groaned and realized all eyes were on him. 

He raised his eyebrows and swallowed. “Dude, I’ve been in the military.”

Bobby and Cas both laughed. “Ellen, you could recruit legions of soldiers with these pancakes,” Bobby offered, mouth stuffed full.

At that they all relaxed into their food and talked about generic local happenings and the upcoming college semester. They avoided any heavy topics and managed to keep the conversation general, even laughing at the bad band last night. 

“Hey, Ellen, Cas tells me The Roadhouse considers local bands for entertainment.”

Ellen refused to shoot a look at her head bartender. “It’s true. The local bands bring in more of the college crowd and help keep our costs down as they often play for free due to the exposure and free advertisement. Last night was a bust and they know they aren’t invited back.”

Dean nodded. “He says Sundays are pretty guaranteed.”

Turning away to put dishes in the dishwasher, Ellen licked her lips and tried to decide how to respond. “Yeah. We found that Fridays and Saturdays are mostly the college and rowdy crowd. Sundays are the parent date night and older couple date night. They want to come out, enjoy a decent time and good food.” She leaned against the stainless steel table. “We looked for music that would suit that particular group and we’ve been doing it for almost a year.”

Dean leaned back and sipped his coffee. “That’s great. Sunday nights are hard to populate in any restaurant.”

“Have some experience there Dean?”

He swallowed the last of his coffee and handed her the cup with a wide smile. “Nah. I just remember the old days.”

She watched him head into the main room and her eyes met Bobby’s. Neither of them moved or spoke but they still communicated. She saw Bobby’s eyes flick to Cas as he hesitated and then followed Dean out into the main room of The Roadhouse. Ellen nodded. 

“Can we trust him?” Bobby asked, eyes on his coffee.

Ellen sighed heavily and moved to lean on the table across from Bobby, her dark eyes as uncertain as he had ever seen them.

“I trust Cas,” she started. “And in two days I have been able to glimpse, only glimpse, the depth of Dean’s despair.” Looking up at him she frowned. “I see the way they look at each other. I see the fear and the hope, and the bullet.”

Bobby reached out and laid a hand over hers, his expression uncharacteristically stoic. “Dean isn’t the kid we knew. He’s a man forged by war and injury. If Cas can see him for who he is…”

“Not the problem,” Ellen offered as she squeezed his hand in response. “Dean can’t see himself for who he is. Cas has been through a lot, enough to understand.” And Bobby bit back his response knowing she knew the other man better. “But he’s also just a man. And Dean can be cold and cruel.”

Knocking back the last of his orange juice that had been spiked by Ellen, he offered a frank frown. “So now what?”

She shrugged. “You work him and occupy his mind in cars. He can still do it, right?” At Bobby’s quick nod, she sighed. “And I’ll keep him occupied where I can. The rest is up to Castiel.”

“You think so?”

She pegged him with a look that almost had him squirming on his stool. “You don’t see it?”

He dropped his eyes. “No. No, I do.”

“So you’re ashamed of him?”

Bobby stood and pushed back his stool without realizing the force. “Hell. Dean’s family. Always has been. I don’t care who he loves.”

It wasn’t until Ellen smiled that he relaxed and huffed out a breath. “Kid doesn’t get it does he?”

Ellen shook her head. “Nope. John has him too jumbled up.”

“Damn John Winchester. He was good man but a poor father,” Bobby groused. 

Ellen laid her hand on his arm, eyes warm. “You and me, we’ve been what these boys have had. Good or bad. No matter what.”


	10. Chapter 10

Uncharacteristically, Dean had allowed himself to fall into an afternoon nap. It wasn’t that he tried to avoid Castiel but part of him was horny and embarrassed so he sought solace in a book and his bed. 

When he awoke with a groan and a fully stiff body he knew he had slept too long, and at the same time he knew he needed the extra hours. He was on at six that night and it was dangerously quiet. He poked his head into the living room and didn’t see Cas. He sighed a tiny bit of relief when the other man’s bedroom door was closed.

He retreated to his own small haven and sank onto the bed, letting his body and mind relax. Practicing the breathing exercises he remembered from his time in physical therapy, the tried to relax each muscle, each nerve ending. It wasn’t something he was very good at, but he did respect the process so he tried it, relied on it, when he felt he needed it. 

As the relaxation technique kicked in, he allowed his mind to drift, to float, along different topics, only peripherally aware of the sounds around him. He wasn’t worried as he knew his internal clock would let him know when it was about time to get ready for work. 

Sure enough, he felt his body begin to resurface without any effort on his part. His body felt slumberous and heavy, his mind both jumbled and clear. He vaguely recalled hearing sounds out in the other room and frowned, wondering if Cas had already headed down for the evening shift. 

Stretching, he allowed his muscles to elongate and joints to pop. He headed for a quick shower to revive himself and shake off the last of his lazy afternoon. 

Dressed in dark jeans and the black Roadhouse t-shirt again he headed toward the bar a few minutes before six. Cas was already there, dressed in dark jeans and black button down with the sleeves rolled up on his forearms. In the middle of pouring a mixed drink, he nodded as Dean rounded the bar. 

“Can you check on glasses in the back? Crowd seems a bit lively tonight.”

Dean nodded, noticing that Cas seemed as normal as ever, for which he was glad since his own heart beat was in his throat, threatening to choke him. Laden down with two large crates of glasses, he filled the appropriate slots, slid empties into their small dishwasher at the bar, pulled a few orders for the waitresses and then shifted into cutting lemons and limes. He was glad that he and Cas slid right into a rhythm and things didn’t seem awkward. 

After about thirty minutes of the normal routine, Dean finally felt himself relax. He had felt the heat of the other man as he brushed behind him for a bottle of whiskey and didn’t think he imagined the puff of hot air on his neck. His eyes wandered often to the dark headed man, drawn as if a moth to a flame and he wasn’t sure yet if he should worry about that pull or not. 

“Hey, Cas.” Ellen stepped just behind the bar, which she rarely did if Castiel was there. 

“Hey, boss lady,” he called back casually, still pulling a draft beer.

“Think we should start the entertainment a little early? Crowd is large and seems restless.”

Dean glanced around, realizing the restaurant was well packed for a Sunday night at six thirty. He saw mostly couples or groups of couples, most were drinking beer or bottles of wine and seemed to be relaxing over their beverage of choice while they waited for their meals, some entertaining appetizers as if waiting for the entertainment to start. 

Cas swept his eyes around the restaurant as he wiped his hands on a towel tucked into his waistband. He shrugged. “No reason not to get started a bit early.”

“Good,” Ellen responded as Cas headed out from behind the bar. Her dark eyes turned to Dean. “I need you to handle the bar for the next two hours.”

Dean opened his mouth to ask questions and then closed it due to her serious look. He only nodded and saw Ellen smirk in response. “Holler if you need me,” she offered as she headed back to the kitchen.

He glanced around the bar and frowned. The bar wasn’t overly crowded so he knew he could handle it. The mixed drinks were coming back to him quickly and beer was always easy to pour. A man walking in the door caught his eye. Dressed in dark charcoal slacks and a lavender dress shirt with one too many buttons undone, he paused inside the door, looked around and then headed to the flat back of the bar. 

Something about him made Dean bristle but he pushed that down and grabbed a menu, putting on a practiced welcoming grin. The patron slid onto a seat at the edge of the bar that put his back to the door and on the corner where he could easily see the stage. 

Sliding his bar towel across the wood with a practiced swipe, he gained the man’s attention and slid a menu in front of him. The other man held up a hand that stilled Dean’s movements. “I’ll take a bottle of the Mondavi Sauvignon Blanc. And a double of the crab cake appetizer.”

The man’s British and amused tone put Dean on edge. He was used to dealing with all kinds of people but this man seemed a bit different. As if he knew him, and yet they had never met. Nodding, Dean prepped a glass of water for the man, adding a small plate of lemons and limes before moving off to enter his order. 

Lights above them flickered gently but Dean paid no mind as he knew it signaled the coming of the entertainment. He flipped open two bottles of Blue Moon and mixed a simple vodka martini for a waitress and then moved to pull the wine for his irritating British customer. Using more flourish than necessary, he opened the bottle and began to pour when a voice startled him and he stepped back, luckily able to avoid spilling the wine. 

“Good evening,” a smooth but raspy voice welcomed. “It’s Sunday night and welcome to The Roadhouse. Most of you look like regulars so I won’t bother with any long introduction.” He heard a grin in the voice. “I sense some restlessness tonight so let’s see if I can mellow you all out.”

Dean stared, wine bottle forgotten in his hands, as he turned to see Cas sitting at the battered upright piano. The dark headed man was turned toward the general restaurant area and the small spot light cast him half in shadows. 

He started as a hand reached out and plucked the bottle from his hands. With a grimace he turned and saw the British dude smiling at him. “Can you get me a bucket?”

Moving with robotic grace, Dean did so. The other man slid the bottle into the ice and looked him over with a serious look. “I take it Castiel didn’t warn you.”

“You know Cas?” Dean offered gruffly after he cleared his throat. 

The other man swirled his wine, eyes never leaving Dean’s. “I do. Quite well. He has played on Sundays for quite awhile now.” The man put his wine glass down and leaned forward. “I’m Balthazar.”

“Dean,” he bit out. 

“Ah, you’re Dean. I recommend that you listen closely.”

His green eyes narrowed. “Why is that?”

The blond headed man leaned back and grinned. “Cas is pretty good. He talks a lot through his talents – singing, drawing. Thought you might get that.”

Dean found himself pinned into place as a waitress delivered the crab cakes. The man thanked her with a wide smile but drilled his pale eyes back on Dean instantly. As he snapped out his napkin, he gave a rueful grin. 

“Do you know this song?”

He shook his head. He wasn’t one for easy listening or blues much. “Barry Manilow’s Paradise Café. A good song to ease in and settle the crowd down, which is needed tonight, I think. You should listen to the words of the songs he sings,” he offered. 

Dean bristled. “Why is that?”

Balthazar raised one eyebrow as he picked up his utensils. “I’ve known Cas for some time now and the one thing I know is he doesn’t waste his words.” 

Turning away Dean found customers to attend to and orders to fill. He felt bristly and on edge. He did find a moment to actually listen to the music, not only the words, that Cas played and found himself relaxing into the rhythm. It wasn’t unlike his breathing techniques. 

“Welcome to Sunday night at The Roadhouse,” Cas offered, his lean fingers playing some background strands on the piano, a soft smile on his face. “I’ve got a little bluegrass number next, still a bit mellow, so I think you will like it.”

Trying to focus on his job, Dean poured beers, chatted with customers, eyed the kitchen and generally tried to fight his urge to look at Cas on the piano. He found that the Balthazar character was amused by this and saluted him with his fork. 

Cas grinned at the crowd and their light applause. “How about some Chicago, hmm?”

Dean recognized the opening strains, even if he was a classic rock guy. He closed his eyes briefly as Cas started to sing “Love Me Tomorrow.” Personally he liked the guitar in it but gave credit to the other man since he could easily recognize it. He found Cas’s voice a bit low for the song, but since he could feel the energy from the crowd he knew it was a good choice.

He slid into another familiar blues song, “Ain’t No Sunshine” and Dean found himself having to pause when Cas’s gravelly voice hit the low chords. He wasn’t sure he could make it through the shift like this. As he turned he saw that the other man was looking directly at him and felt flutters in his stomach. Maybe this was mutual and maybe he needed to stick it out. 

As the next song slid in, Dean realized it was still a bit bluesy but more popular. When Cas started to sing, he had to hide a smile, recognizing the lyrics as the “Memphis Soul Song” and rhythm by Uncle Cracker. It was a bit harsh on the piano only but Cas tried to temper it with his voice and it worked ok for the gathered crowd. 

He noticed that the infamous Balthazar was done with the crab cakes and moved forward to pour another glass of wine and, noticing the bottle was low, asked if he wanted another. 

“Please,” the Brit responded. “And a slice of the berry pie hiding in the back.”

Dean blinked at the other man’s knowing grin. Few knew that Ellen kept an in-season berry pie just for those regulars. “Don’t blow an artery Deano.” His eyes slid to the side and then back to Dean. “Do you know this one?”

Dean shook his head after a few seconds. He was pretty good with music, especially classics, but this wasn’t classic rock and it was an odd beat he didn’t recognize. Interesting piano slips.

Balthazar waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s harder when it’s just the piano. Sometimes they scrounge up a saxophone and a trumpet which make the crowd really go wild.” His pale eyes mocked the other man. This is “Temptation.” You should listen closely.”

Gritting his teeth, Dean turned away but heard the rasp of Castiel’s voice as he performed his duties behind the bar. He waved over a waitress and sent her to the back with the special pie order. It was quiet so he couldn’t help a glance at Cas as he played the piano. 

The lithe man hunched over the keyboard, his whole body focused on the keys and making them come alive with the music. Dean could see him close his eyes, concentrate on the rhythm of the music, and was amazed at his ability to play with eyes closed. 

Temptation was a song that had smoky lyrics and Dean found himself wrapped into them. He was fascinated by a couple in their early fifties that got up to dance to the music and found it was all the more sensual with the way they moved together from years of having known each other. He found he had to clear his throat and shift his own stance and accidentally met Cas’s mildly humored eyes as he played out the final bars. 

Applause burst out for the couple and Cas kept up a light background tune as the crowd clapped and whistled while the couple took their embarrassed bows. The pie ended up in Dean’s hand before he could protest so he reluctantly took it over to the Brit.

“You don’t have to like me,” Balthazar offered. “But I could prove beneficial.”

“How so?” Dean shot back.

“I’m his best friend, or closest thing to. And I already know your name. That should tell you something,” he said dryly, forking up a piece of pie. “Or are you really just a dumb Marine?”

Dean felt his hands clenching into fists at his side and a growl begin in his throat. He knew he needed to walk away but he also knew he was being goaded. With a deep breath, he forced himself to release his shoulders and his clenched hands. He was rewarded with an appraising glance from Balthazar and remained still. 

“Cas took me in as a roommate. I’m an old family friend of the owner.”

“Uh-huh. Cas doesn’t give in that easy.”

Going for nonchalant, Dean rested his forearms on the bar and slid out a famous cocky Winchester grin. “Well, maybe I made a really good impression.”

The laugh that barked out of the Brit was surprising and loud and caused Dean to stand up stock straight. The other man toned it down but wiped at his eyes. “You really don’t know my Cassy do you? Oh this is going to be good.”

Before Dean could respond, Cas’s voice floated over the crowd again. “I think I’d like to end tonight with a number almost everyone will know.” He shifted slightly away from the piano and grabbed a guitar. “It’s a bit lively but also serious and I think it fits the mood a number of us entered the night with.”

The crowd responded with light laughter and he could tell that a few extra chords were played to let the laughter die down before he slid into the song he wanted to end with. Dean found that his nerve endings were on edge. He slid out a hidden glass of whiskey and took a sip in effort to calm his nerves. 

Dean watched the other man stroke the guitar and though he recognized the opening chords it wasn’t until Cas started singing that he recognized the song. He had to put his hands on the bar and hang his head down. This wasn’t that common of a song, though most people had heard it at some time or another. It was familiar to him as a lot of his buddies in the Marines sang to pass the time, to weather the storm, or to stay sane and this had been a favorite of a few that harmonized really well.

Cas’s voice was deep and gravelly enough to do justice to the lyrics, even if it was rough at times. When he happened to glance up, legs shaking, his eyes lighting on electric blue ones, it was to the lyrics:

Take a load off, Fanny  
And (and) (and) you put the load right on me  
(You put the load right on me)

A half sob shook his body and for some reason he glanced back at the British devil seated at his bar. The other man was looking straight at him, eyes solemn and serious for the first time all night. He saluted Dean with his glass, a grim set to his mouth as if he knew what was in the other man’s mind.

Taking a deep breath, Dean stood and let his eyes sweep over the bar, making sure that customers were tended to, as Cas played the last verse. With military training and focus, Dean tuned him out and made the rounds of his customers, even if they didn’t seem to need his attention. Vaguely he heard Cas talking and winding down his set and the crowd applauded. 

In the background he realized that Cas was no longer playing and Ellen had reset the music they pumped in normally. He found that his shoulders relaxed a little and he felt like he could take a deep breath again. 

After chatting with a few ladies at a high top, he turned to see Cas leaning casually on the bar next to Balthazar, taking the proffered wine glass from the Brit and taking a deep sip. He laughed at something that was said and Dean felt a vise tighten around his gut. Cas looked relaxed and carefree. What did he need with a fucked up ex-Marine like Dean?

“Don’t run.”

Dean turned and practically ran into Ellen. They were far enough away from the bar and tables as to not be overheard. He automatically took a step back and her hand came to his arm. Her eyes were dark on his and her face set into a stern look. 

“What?” He said, trying to stall for time and balance. 

She frowned. “Don’t run, Dean. Not from Cas.”

“I’m just headed to the back for supplies,” he lied. 

“Can’t con me, Dean.”

He ducked his head. Ellen was like his mom in that regard and one of the reasons he respected her above almost anyone else. She never took shit but she could give it out. So he licked his lips and cracked his neck. 

Her voice dropped slightly. “I know that Balthazar is just a friend. He wants to be more but he’s not what Castiel needs.” She raised her eyebrows at Dean’s look. “Those are words from Castiel’s own mouth, thank you. What are you afraid of?”

Dean bit his lip, emotions worn down to the nub from the sex with Cas and the music that sang in his veins. “I’m not the same as when I left,” he said darkly.

“No one expects you to be,” she replied, voice dropping into a more gentle tone. “Cas doesn’t know anything but what you show him now. You have a clean slate with him.”

Trying to find the words, he cleared his throat. “But he’s—“

“Not as perfect as you think,” Ellen offered up, a slight smile on her face. “You’ve heard the beginning of his story here, but there is more. More to him, more to the story, more as to why he stayed. You should ask.”

Dean was shaking his head before she finished. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He opened his mouth and closed it. “I don’t know.”

Her hand cupped his cheek briefly. “You’re both family, Dean. And that’s ok. No one is asking more of you than you can offer.” She dropped her hand and smiled. “Go upstairs and relax. I’ll take the rest of your shift.” She held up a hand as he began to protest. “Leave it, Dean. You haven’t been back long and you went through a lot to get back to us. Take the reprieve.”

He huffed out a sigh and hung his head, shoulders relaxing. “Thanks, Ellen.”

“Not to sound like Bobby,” she teased, “But Son, no thanks is needed. Family is family. Gotta take care of each other.” She turned back as she headed behind the bar. “Ash has a plate for you.”

Dean could only nod and head to the back. He was grateful that Ash was a bit busy and could only gesture to the take away cartons on the pass through shelf. Dean nodded and took them all, stomach growling at the wonderful aromas.

He let himself into the quiet apartment. It was dark except for the light pouring in from the open blinds on the floor to ceiling windows. He closed his eyes and let the quiet roll over him, the subtle scents of the dishes in his hands wafting over him and made him smile. 

Striding across the room, he set on a low room lamp and turned the stereo on, not even sure what it was set to play. Some eighties hair band ballad started to play so he smiled as he set the containers in the kitchen and decided what he was going to do for the evening. Running a hand through his hair, he decided to open a beer and see what Ellen had sent up. 

A deep swig of beer warmed his belly and he found crisp fries and a side of ketchup in one, two large burgers with the works in another and an overly generous slice of pie in the last. He huffed out a laugh and wasn’t sure how to proceed when he heard a small noise.

“Ellen orchestrated this,” Cas offered, his eyes on the counter and not on the other man. 

Dean subtlety shifted his stance and turned to the fridge to grab a beer to further hide his expression. The dark headed man accepted the beer without question and then looked up and Dean found he couldn’t look away.

“This wasn’t supposed to be awkward.”

“It wasn’t?” Dean asked. 

Cas smiled ruefully. “I think so. But you know, cards and all.” Those endless blue eyes met his as the other man leaned on the kitchen bar. “Wanna go first?”

Drinking deeply from the longneck and eyeing the pie, he shook his head. “Not really.”

“Fine.” Dean’s head snapped up as he watched Cas settle onto one of the cushioned bar stool seats. He sat down, legs spread and leaned his beer arm on the back of the other bar stool.

“Look,” Cas started, eyes serious with a hint of amusement. “I’m not a game guy. I want you, Dean. In my bed.” He shrugged. “I can say it without concern but I don’t know about you.”

Dean’s mind blanked. “Balthazar introduced himself.”

The pale brow furrowed as Cas frowned and shifted his legs. “And?”

“You don’t want the Brit? He’s like suave and shit.”

Castiel grinned at the ex-Marine and sipped the beer in a semi-response. “No, Dean. I like Balthazar as a friend. As much as he wanted to be more at one time, he knows it isn’t in the cards. Did he tease you?”

Clearing his throat, Dean turned away to gather napkins and his racing thoughts. “Not really. He said some stuff though.”

The dark headed man huffed. “Not his place. Not that I don’t welcome his… consideration, but I prefer to make my own connections.”

“Do we have a connection?”

Dean watched as the other man fought not only a smile but the urge to laugh. It made him wonder but also made him stiffen in response to rejection. Dean was nothing if not a realist in the world.

Cas rounded the high counter between them, painfully aware this was not the only boundary he faced. Dean’s eyes were wide, lust blown and not a little scared. He could only imagine how he looked in response. Though they were both adults, in this moment he felt like they were both fumbling virgins. 

He slid a pale, slender finger along the gentle stubble on the soldier’s jaw. “I’m no virgin, Dean, but I’m no slut either. I need you to tell me what you want from me.”

His eyes fluttered shut and his breath punched out of him at that one small, soft touch. “I want you, Cas.” His eyes fluttered open. “But I don’t know how to do this. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time and those tended to be very short lived. I mean, if you want to date, I’ll try but I’ll probably suck at it.”

“Fair enough. I’m not looking for a one night stand but other than that we can take it as slow as you need.” Cas slid a step closer, one hand coming to rest on Dean’s hip. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Dean’s heart pounded in his chest as the other man’s mouth met his. He found Cas’s lips to be soft and dry on his, those soft pink slips pushing up slightly into him to make up for the inches in their height. Their tongues met, tangled and feasted. He growled and slid one hand into the smaller man’s messy hair.

Both men groaned and shifted their bodies closer together, rubbing up against each other, hands seeking flesh beneath their shirts. Tongues licked and teeth nipped as they tasted each other, began to learn the subtle textures that made them different from each other. 

Cas’s eyes sharpened to narrow blue when Dean used the hold in his hair to pull them apart. The hungry lust in those eyes made him want to bend him over the kitchen counter. “Bed,” he growled.

Shifting slightly, Cas grabbed Dean’s hand and began to lead him. Dean blew out a breath, not minding that he was being led along so that he had a few moments to gather his thoughts and slow down the raging desire that was threatening to eat him from the inside out.

As they passed into the bedroom, Cas let go of his hand and casually removed his shirt, tossing it toward a corner of the bedroom. He turned around to face Dean in those last few steps as he quickly toed out of his shoes and undid his jeans. 

Cas offered a raised eyebrow. “Wearing a few too many clothes there, aren’t you Soldier?”

Dean shivered at the husky rumble of the other man's’ voice. Who knew a voice could lick against nerve endings so perfectly? He tossed off his shirt, pushing his shoes and jeans off in one move and then pushed Cas back onto the bed, only the cloth of their boxers between them.

Instinctually his hips nestled between Cas’s thighs and he rested on his forearms, head lowering to inhale the scent of the other man’s skin. His tongue slid out to taste the smooth flesh there at the crook of his neck, sweat and heat lingering on his tongue. Nipping lightly at the soft skin, he found Cas arching up into him, baring his neck in the age old gesture of submission. 

He nibbled his way down to Cas’s collarbone, licking and nipping the skin, intoxicated by the scent of the other man beneath him. Cas rocked his hips up in further invitation and pleasure.

“You like that, Cas? Want me to mark you up?” he growled.

“Yes, Dean. Please.”

“Oh baby, you are so fucking hot.” He ground his hips down in a rocking rhythm.

Cas gasped as Dean continued to nibble and bite his neck and collarbone. His teeth bit into his lower lip as the other man’s hips ground against him, creating heat and arousal. A growling moan escaped him as Dean’s teeth found an extra sensitive spot of skin and he slid his hands to cup Dean’s ass.

Dean slid down Cas’s pale body, licking and nipping at the exposed skin. He grinned to himself as he came across the trail of dark hairs leading into the other man’s boxers. Mouthing at the hardened dick beneath him, Dean was rewarded with whimpered demands. 

He pulled down Cas’s boxers and slid the tip of his cock into his mouth. Cas buried his hands in Dean’s short hair, bucking up into the heat of that mouth. Dean put his hands on Cas’s hips to hold him down and sent a smirk up at him as he lowered his mouth to envelop Cas fully.

“Dean,” Cas begged, tugging on his hair. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“What do you want, angel baby?”

“Fuck me, Dean. Please, please fuck me.”

Sitting back on his heels, Dean removed Cas’s boxers, exposing the leaking cock to his eyes and hands. He managed to awkwardly kick off his own boxers before settling against him, skin to skin. They both moaned at the sensation, eyes locking on each other. 

Cas reached out and fumbled into the drawer next to the bed, coming back with a condom and bottle of lube. Dean smiled and reached for the lube, slicking up his fingers as Cas spread his legs wider in invitation.

He circled one slick finger around the puckered hole. Cas mewled and arched his hips a little. Dean chuckled and pressed in slightly with his finger, nipping at Cas’s collarbone to keep him still. He slid that finger in slow and easy, wanting to watch the other man’s face as he did it and feel his body accept him. 

“So hot, angel,” Dean murmured.

Cas arched against the other man, pressing his hips up to take in more of Dean’s slick finger. Part of him noticed how gentle Dean was being even though they both seemed overstimulated. His eyes flew up to Dean’s as the other man slid in a second finger. He knew the look on his face must show how wrecked and ready he was but he couldn’t seem to stop it. 

Dean loved the way that Cas responded to him. His lithe body was taut as a guitar string, his eyes wide and lust blown, and watching those teeth bite into his own lower lip was too fucking hot. Feeling his own cock twitch and leak pre-come, Dean knew he needed to get inside the Cas before he embarrassed himself, but he wanted Cas to be more than ready.

Sliding up to his knees, Dean pulled Cas up on his thighs with one hand while the other never stopped sliding in and out and stretching him. The keening noise from the other man had him cussing under his breath and reaching for the condom. 

His eyes shot up and clashed with dark blue when Cas ripped the condom from his hands. Cas licked his pink lips and, opening the packet, expertly sliding it over Dean’s straining cock without ever looking way from his eyes. It was Dean’s turn to close his eyes and clench his teeth as Cas stroked his covered cock and smirked at him. 

Leaning down over Cas, Dean took a moment to slick lube over his cock before placing the head against Cas’s pink hole. He swallowed and stretched his neck in a gesture to gain a moment’s control. 

Cas watched the emotions play over Dean’s face. His eyes were dark green and lust blown, his perfect lips dark pink and puckered, making him wonder what it would be like to have Dean on his knees before him, using that mouth and nothing else on his cock. And he watched Dean struggle, choosing in that moment to let his body go pliant, not wanting to ruin this moment in any way. He knew he wanted this, wanted Dean.

Dean closed his eyes and let out a breath, the knowledge that his cock was positioned at Cas’s opening begging him to surge forward and pound the other man into the mattress. 

“Cas—Cas, it’s been a long time for me and I’m not sure how good I can make this for you,” Dean admitted, voice low and shaking.

With a seductive smile, Cas slid his legs farther up Dean’s back and reached up behind his head to slide his hands under the pillow and grasp the edge of the mattress. He wiggled his hips and pressed up slightly. “Think you can make me come without touching my cock?”

A shudder slid through his body and Dean planted his left hand firmly on Cas’s hip, right hand holding the base of his cock as he moved forward. He grinned as Cas’s eyes slid a bit wider and then fluttered closed as he started to press forward.

“Oh, angel baby, I’m gonna spread you wide and make you scream.”

Cas bit his lip at the stretch as Dean slid into him. He fought back a whimper but realized he couldn’t stop his hips as they bucked up to meet the slide of the cock entering him. 

Dean chuckled low and dirty, moving his right hand to the bed beside Cas’s hip even as the other clenched his skin. That look made Cas swallow deep, dark things thrumming inside his belly. Part of him had known that Dean could be like this but seeing it was pure pleasure. 

Reaching for a pillow, Dean pushed it under Cas’s hips and settled back on his heels, moving both hands to those sexy jutting hipbones. He wanted nothing better than to pound away but at the same time he wanted to hold back and see if he could make this sexy bartender come undone beneath him. 

Cas felt full as Dean’s cock bottomed out in him and the pleasure rocketed as Dean slid the pillow beneath him. His body responded, clenching around the cock deep inside him and he was rewarded with a hiss from the man above him, feeling Dean’s hand clench against his hip.

Dean was getting desperate, the full feeling settling into his lower abdomen. Cas was spread out so pliant and needy beneath him. It was more than he had hoped for, more than he knew what to do with so he settled for going with what he was good at. Sex he was good at. 

Moving his hips in a smooth circular motion, Dean wrung a startled sound from the man beneath him and watched his hands scramble for something to hold onto. Hiding his smile, he bent forward even as he slid out of Cas and snapped his hips forward to slide all the way in again. 

The sound that punched out of Cas let him know the pillow had done its intended job and he was on the track to hit Cas’ prostate with every slide of his cock. Though it had been a long while since he’d had sex with anyone - male or female - it was something he was good at, something he loved to do, so the art was never quite lost to him. 

Cas moved his legs from Dean’s hips in order to dig his heels into the bed to better meet the pounding thrusts. His eyes slid open to watch Dean. The other man loomed over him, his teeth clenched, and a sheen of sweat covered his tanned skin. 

Lifting his head slightly, Cas slid his tongue up Dean’s forearm catching the sheen of sweat there, rewarded with a startled gasp and couldn’t hide his own grin. 

“Oh yeah babe, two can play at this game.” Dean hooked one of his hands under Cas’s knee and pulled it up to his shoulder. With this move, Dean knew that he took back control and watched as the lithe runner’s body trembled and shook beneath his rhythmic thrusts. 

With a whimper and an arch, Cas slid one of his hands to his cock, eyes flying open when Dean captured his wrist and moved it above his head. As Dean leaned over him, all he could think about was licking and biting his throat as he came. 

“Bad angel. Only I get to touch this time.”

“Please, Dean,” Cas gasped, bucking under him, that much closer due to the display of dominance. 

Dean leaned a bit closer to the other man’s ear, sliding one hand to gently grasp his cock. “Need me to touch you, babe? Need my hand on your cock? Oh yeah, wanna feel you clench me tight.” Dean stroked his hand a few times in rhythm with hips. “Come for me, angel.”

That was all it took for Cas, his head fell back, his body bowing underneath Dean as his body was racked with the spasms of his release. As he slid down the tingly slope, his eyes opened and he watched as Dean stilled above him, milked by the spasms of his own body and he shuddered once again at the riotous pleasure between them.

Half collapsing on his side and half on the man beneath him, Dean couldn’t be bothered to move just yet. His breath was harsh, his body both tingling and numb in spots. It was one of the hottest orgasms of his life and he had few doubts Cas wouldn’t agree. 

It was the hand stroking over his hair that finally made him stir. With a groan he slid up to his elbow and looked down. Cas looked thoroughly debauched, eyes still dark, body pliant beneath Dean and his skin covered in gooseflesh where his own flesh didn’t cover him. 

“So…” Dean started. 

Cas offered a decadent grin and stretched beneath him, humming slightly. “Yes, Dean.”

That low voice slid heat through his lower abdomen even now. He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a breath, not sure what he planned to say next. 

“Hmm. Say we get cleaned up and get back into bed. Perhaps a replay in the morning,” Cas offered. He sensed Dean’s discomfort and wanted to try and offer him a way to stay since he wanted him to stay.

With a cocky grin Dean heaved himself up into a sitting position and slid off the used condom. “I like the way you think.”

Cas slid swiftly out of bed, unselfconscious in his nudity. He tossed a teasing grin over his shoulder. “I call first shower.” He continued to laugh, quickening his pace as Dean shouted and followed behind him.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean woke slowly, stretching his body and feeling achy in random places. He cracked an eye open to see that the curtains revealed it was still dark out. Raising up slightly, he looked at the alarm clock to see that it was just before six. He had to be at Bobby’s at eight so he had plenty of time to curve back around the warm body nestled against him. 

He smiled as he realized that Cas was curled up, covers pulled up almost as far as they could go so that only the blue tips of his dark hair peeked over the maroon comforter. His body stirred at the sight and he slid closer, nuzzling his nose into the other man’s neck. Cas made a soft sound and shifted under the covers, but didn’t move away.

With gentle movements, Dean slid the Cas farther onto his stomach, and propped himself up on his forearm. Pushing the comforter aside with frustration, he ran the tips of his fingers down the other man’s slim spine. Cas shimmied and sighed beneath him but didn’t show any true signs of waking up.

A devious grin lit his lips and he pushed the comforter back even further, baring his lover’s pale body to him in the shadowy light. A finger trailed lightly over one bared ass cheek and he had to hold back a hiss of pleasure as his cock surged against Cas’s hip. 

His lips lowered to hover near Cas’s ear as his fingers slid gently lower in soft circles, moving toward Cas’s hot hole. He wanted to know if it was swollen and pink from last night. If he could taste the mingled flavors of their musk even though they had showered. He wanted to slip his tongue along that pale ass crack and wake Cas with his tongue.

Dean barely bit back a groan as Cas shifted beneath him in sleep, spreading his thighs a little wider and snuggling his head into the pillow. He had to close his eyes and then carefully slid his own leg between Cas’s, providing not only friction but helping to keep the other man’s legs spread.

Not able to wait any longer, Dean slid a finger into his mouth, coating it with his own spit and slid it between those pale ass cheeks. His eyes closed in concentration as he tried to narrow his senses down to one fingertip. He thought he felt that puckered hole slightly swollen and could picture how dark pink it would be in the low light. A needy growl worked up his throat and he shifted until he was almost on top of the smaller man, his hands reaching to spread those pale, lightly haired globes. 

Dean did hiss when he slid down closer to Cas’s ass. He let his thumbs gently part the other man’s ass cheeks and leaned closer, breathing in the scent of heat and arousal, his tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip. What he wanted was to wet Cas’s swollen hole and he leaned down to do just that. 

Cas slid to awareness with cool air on his back, hands on his ass and a tongue sliding along his crack. His hands clenched in the bed sheets as he whimpered and arched in response. “Dean,” he breathed. 

Pulling back only slightly, Dean ran his tongue along one ass cheek. “Yeah, angel, it’s me.”

Shuddering, Cas canted his hips up, spreading his cheeks wider. “Morning.”

Dean hummed and slid his finger back against Cas’s puckered hole. “Yeah. It’s morning. I wanted to see if you were pink and swollen.”

Cas tried to bite back a whimper and looked over his shoulder, unaware of how dark his eyes were. “Am I?”

“Fuck yeah.”

His eyes trailed over the flush that rose up from Dean’s neck. He bit his bottom lip and slid up further onto his knees, not missing the way that Dean flowed with him, those bowlegs spreading his own even wider. 

“I think you want to fuck me again,” Cas taunted.

Dean slid a finger deep in his mouth, and then moved it back to Cas’s ass and pressed just the tip inside, his eyes dared the other man’s to close. “And if I do?”

With a subtle twist of his hips Cas slid all the way back on Dean’s finger, rewarded with a bit off curse from the other man. He almost purred as he nuzzled his face into the pillow and into a comfortable position. 

“I told you I wanted you in my bed, Dean, and here you are.”

Bracing one hand on the bed, Dean swirled the one finger inside Cas before adding another. “Here I am.”

“Lube’s under the other pillow.”

Dean did growl then as he reached for it. Slicking up his fingers and pressing them against that swollen, pink hole that just seemed to beg for his touch. Cas was still slightly loose from last night but he took it slow, scissoring his two fingers a bit before adding a third. 

It was the third finger that had Cas whimpering and pressing his hips back into Dean’s hand. He couldn’t help it. He’d wanted Dean since the man walked in the bar, his relation to Ellen and his adopted family not dampening his desire at all. It honestly should have and yet all he wanted was to feel Dean’s body even closer.  
“That’s it, angel,” Dean murmured as he twisted his fingers, further opening Cas and seeking out his prostate. “Show me you want it.”

“Now, Dean.”

Dean shook his head even though Cas wasn’t looking at him. “Not yet. I want to make you writhe beneath me. I want to see if I can make you come like this.”

“You can,” Cas admitted as his head turned and eyes flitted open to watch Dean as Dean watched his fingers breach his ass. “But I want your cock, Dean. I want to feel you deep in me again.”

Green clashed with blue as Dean lifted his eyes from Cas’s ass to his face. The other man’s face was open and flushed, unashamed in his arousal. Cursing, Dean removed his fingers and slid the remaining lube over his straining cock. He shuddered as he slid the condom over his length and barely noticed Cas adding a bit of lube to his prepared hole in order to anticipate for the latex that was between them. 

Dean leaned over that lean back covered in alluring tattoos, his legs spreading wider in order to prepare the man beneath him. He felt rather than heard Cas whimper as he pressed just inside the swollen and waiting hole. He had to grit his own teeth and found his head flinging back at the intense sensation. Cas was tight and hot around him even though they had just done this hours before. 

A groan escaped Dean as he felt Cas brace his arms on the bed and push back in a rough rhythm. Soon the pressure ended and his eyes flew open. Cas was looking at him with an open stare.

“On your back, Dean,” he demanded. 

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Dean complied, watching in pleasure as Cas rolled and settled above his hips, stomach muscles rippling as he reached behind him to grasp Dean’s straining cock and guide it to his clenching hole. Cas’s blue eyes were dark and intense and Dean found he couldn’t look away as he sank down slowly, each delicate breach etched onto his expressive face. 

Dean’s hands came to rest on Cas’s hips and clenched hard as the other man slid down slowly but intently on his cock. It had never felt like this when a woman did it and he wondered how much he had been missing out. 

“Cas.” His voice came out in a rough half gasp and Cas didn’t stop moving but leaned forward so that he was closer to Dean’s face.

“Mmmhmm. Tell me what you need,” the slighter man encouraged.

“Fuck,” was all Dean could gasp as he was caught up in the rhythm of Cas’s hips and then he remembered his own hands and clenched them to slow down the intense piston-action so that he could be a bit more in control. 

Dean smirked up into Cas’s dark eyes. “Oh yes, lover. I’ve got you. We’re going to ride this dark flame together.”

Cas leaned closer, eyes glinting as he slid his lips hesitantly over Dean’s, even as his hands slid over Dean’s broad shoulders to clench and find purchase. “You think so? He who created the flame controls it.”

Dean’s eyes glinted in challenge. “You think you control this?”

One dark, lean eyebrow quirked. “You think you do?” He slid his hips in an intricate slide as he held Dean’s eyes, pleased when the other man let out a huff of breath and his hands clamped on Castiel’s hips. 

Not one to brag, but also not one to ignore an opportunity, Cas used his runner’s thighs to hold himself up as he removed his hands and stretched his body up over Dean’s freckled body, leaning back slightly to let his muscles play against his lithe form as those intense green eyes looked on.

Dean bit back a curse as he watched Cas stretch above him, his lean body moving in a calculated grace that spoke of a confident connection with his own body. He had been with women, and even some men, that lacked this quality, such that he could recognize and appreciate the confidence when he found it. 

Not wanting to disappoint, he found his hands convulsing on Castiel’s lean hips. His eyes roamed over the taut belly and etched runner’s thighs which he found only ignited his own lust. When his eyes met dark blue again he knew he was lost. 

Cas grinned as he undulated forward, fighting his own shivers as he held himself above Dean. He absorbed the look in those green eyes, took it in, and reveled in it. This wasn’t a contest but he still felt the victor as he leaned forward over Dean, keeping his hips on a planned rhythm, leaning over so that their lips were close. 

“Say it,” Cas encouraged in a deep whisper. 

“Say what?” Dean countered, voice gruff as he fought the pleasure mounting between them. 

Biting his lower lip, Cas bowed his back, finding that spot within his own body that would set him off. Many reputable sex magazines and articles told women to take control of their own pleasure and Cas had found that was no less true in his own life. He found his body arching and hand clenching the bed sheets as he found the right movement and pressure he needed.  
Dean growled and tried to stop the insistent rhythm that the other man had set up. Then he saw the look in his eye, felt the pulse in Cas’s body and knew that fighting was futile and that together they could ride a wave into ecstasy. 

“Cas,” Dean growled. 

Those blue eyes were as dark as the deepest point of the ocean. “Say it, Dean,” he breathed. 

Dean clenched his jaw but found his body responding without his regard. He hissed as his hips surged forward. “Yes, Cas,” he ground out. “Yes. Fuck me.”

“More, Dean,” came the demand. “More.”

Heat burned low in his belly and his eyes slit open to see that pale, tattooed body rise above his own. At that moment it didn’t matter who was dominate, who was in charge, only the connection mattered.

With one last thrust upward, Dean lost his control, surging forward. “Yes, Cas. Give it to me, all of it. Need to feel you. Let me in. In deep, Cas.” Gritting his teeth, he tried to fight his body but gave into the mounting orgasm with a half shout. Because his eyes were only half closed he saw the dark headed man react similarly, his teeth biting into his bottom lip, come spurting over both of their stomachs. 

With a deep inhale, Cas allowed himself to fall forward, half covering Dean, his body thrumming with the intense orgasm. He vaguely registered the slickness between them as he slid to one side, grunting as Dean slid out of his ass. Giving in to the liquid languor in his body, Cas allowed himself to burrow into Dean’s shoulder and give a ridiculous purr of pleasure.

Dean’s laugh rumbled up from deep within. It wasn’t a harsh laugh, but more a surprised one, one set loose when the knot in his stomach relaxed. He felt rather than saw Cas prop up on one elbow beside him and managed to roll his head toward the other man, propping one eye open to Cas’s smirking grin. 

“That was amusing to you?” Cas taunted.

“Only in the most serious sense,” Dean teased back. “You have a fine ass.” That slipped out before he could stop himself. 

Cas smirked harder, pressing slightly harder into Dean’s side, their flesh warm and tingly together. “Of course I do. I’m a runner.”

Dean half snorted. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“You doubt it? After seeing me run, how can you?”

Shifting half onto his side and angled more toward Cas, Dean stretched and slid his left arm behind his head so it propped him up slightly for better viewing of the body he had thoroughly debauched. He hadn’t been this content in a long time. Solid work, good food, hot sex, and teasing banter made for a happy Dean Winchester. 

“Ok, yeah. So maybe I watched your ass as we ran,” Dean admitted. 

A full blown smile lit Cas’s face such that the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I know you did, Dean, but it is nice to hear you admit it.”

Huffing in response, he kept up the banter. “Hell, you know the saying: better to be chased than do the chasing.”

“So you think I chased you?”

“In the run, fuck no. I’m out of shape so I was definitely chasing you.” And then his eyes darkened and hips lips quirked. “But in here…yeah, maybe you did the chasing.”

Shifting into a sitting position and a stretch, Cas didn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes darkened and followed his movements. They were on a narrow road even if only one of them realized it. Sex was good. Teasing was good, but life also had to happen. His eyes slid furtively over to the clock before he swung a heated gaze along Dean’s body and ran a finger lightly down his chest. 

“Mmm. I think you need to get to work, Dean.”

Reflexes kicking in, Dean had sat up and was grabbing Cas’s elbow before he could make a full turn to leave the bed. That steady blue gaze turned back to him from inches away, flesh beneath his hand on guard but still pliant. The hazy part of his brain wondered how Cas knew how to handle touchy ex-soldiers. 

Dean licked his lips to buy time but found that the words wouldn’t come. His body was still flush with his orgasm, the taste of Castiel still in his mouth and yet he couldn’t say anything nor could he remove his hand from the other man’s arm just yet. He had to establish something before he could do that. If only he could define what that was. 

Cas felt his heartbeat speed up but deliberately took a deep breath and kept his body as loose as possible. He wasn’t sure it worked but he was willing to bluff if possible. His eyes flicked to Dean’s lips and he knew his gaze was heated when it shifted back up and he went with that, quirking one dark eyebrow even as he leaned a hairsbreadth closer to Dean’s grasp. 

“Yes, Dean?”

He fought the shiver at that deeply sensual voice but wasn’t sure he managed it. All his primitive brain recognized was that Cas wasn’t fighting him and that the man held further sexual promise. He took a deep breath and let go before fully meeting those calm eyes. 

“Sorry.”

Cas stood quickly but was sure to offer a grin and hand on Dean’s shoulder so as not to lose the connection. He knew his lean body was a draw to the other man and helped his own cause by half turning into the light and let it play upon his body as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. 

“I know Bobby means a lot to you so I just didn’t want you to be late,” Cas offered lightly. 

Dean took the out for what it was. He still had to clear this throat before he could speak. “Yeah, thanks. This job is important to me.”

Cursing himself, Cas leaned over Dean, his lips hovering just inches from the other man’s. “I can’t wait until you can come home and tell me how your first real day went though.”

Dean bit back a litany of curses as Cas straightened and walked away from him. Though he enjoyed the view – God did he – he really wished he had a stronger grasp on his own psyche. He flopped back onto the bed as he heard Cas’s shower come on. What he admitted to himself was that he couldn’t wait until he got home tonight to tell Cas how his first day was.


	12. Chapter 12

By noon Dean was hot and dirty and not in the sexually good way. His talk with Bobby had gone well and they had preliminarily hashed out some ideas. They mutually agreed it would take some additional planning and research before they could make a true decision and until that time Dean had a job as a mechanic in Bobby’s garage. 

Dean didn’t mind the work. He liked working with his hands; liked the way engine pieces and parts fit together to make a whole. And that was often exactly what also caused problems. His mind saw it as a puzzle, as an equation to be solved, rather than as a problem which is what made him exceptional at his job, or at least better than the average mechanic. 

He didn’t care what it cost to fix it, he just wanted to fix the issues. He was just as excited to find out it was a problem a six dollar short tube could fix or if it was a catalytic converter that needed to be replaced. Mechanics often had a bad rep and Dean wanted to change that as much as he could. 

Around half after noon he found himself walking out the back bay door and stretching into the sunlight. His lower back popped and so did one of his knees. Sighing into the release he stared at the overgrown patch of land behind them and wiped his hands on a shop towel. 

“Problems?”

Dean turned at Bobby’s gruff voice and smiled before he completed the turn. “Nah. Just needed a stretch and the sun feels good.” He tucked the shop towel into the back pocket of his coveralls and crossed his arms with a knowing smile. “What do you really want to know, Bobby?”

The older man ducked his head and muttered something under his breath and the rim of his hat. The eyes that rose to meet his were steady and resolute. “How was the service?”

“No need to go there, Bobby,” Dean warned, eyes still holding the same steadiness with effort. 

The older man bobbed a little in a motion Dean could easily interpret. His lips thinned even as his instincts roared to life. 

Bobby sighed and leaned against the large tool chest. “I ain’t asking for me, Idjit, but because I was told to ask.”

Dean relaxed a little with a huff of breath. “I get it, old man. Ellen bullied you. No harm.”

“So you are ok?”

“Fuck.” Dean hollered and began to pace erratically. His hands plowed into his still militarily short hair and that fact registered and spurred his irritation. “Look, I went through some shit, all soldiers do. But I’m handling it.” He squared off with the other man, legs spread, hands loose at his sides. “We square?”

Bobby raised his hands in acquiescence and turned back to go into the office. “Square as possible. I just passed along the message, ya damn Idjit.”

Dean relaxed as Bobby moved away and his words trailed behind him. When he was finally alone in the car bay he rested his hands on the counter and then found himself leaning over until his forehead touched his hands as his whole body fought to clench and release at the same time. He reminded himself he was among family, friends, but still had to touch the magazine tucked into his pocket. 

Licking his lips he fought the urge to hurry to his car and the unloaded gun just waiting in the glove box. He wanted to shove the full magazine into the gun and rack the slide, knowing there was a ready bullet to face the enemy. The problem was that his enemies were now those that couldn’t be faced with a gun.

**

Bobby closed the door to his office and leaned back in his old chair. It squeaked a bit at him as he settled back and slid slightly to the side and the sound soothed him just a bit. Dean was as much his responsibility as if the boy was his own. He knew it but Dean didn’t, or didn’t want to acknowledge it. And Ellen was a woman and could get away with a bit more fluff and feel and emotion, but Dean needed to see something harder, something stronger and Bobby wasn’t sure he knew how to provide it, or even if he could. He knew he could burn out exploring the options. 

With a sigh he picked up the phone and dialed a number that was so ingrained it barely registered. 

“You don’t call this number,” the no-nonsense feminine voice answered. 

He closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the ancient office chair. “I do if it’s about Dean.”

The silence was his answer. It became uncomfortable to the point he opened his mouth when she decided to speak.

“Alright,” she started, voice sensible. “I’m alone in the back with a glass of whiskey on the rocks and piece of chocolate chess pie barely cooled. What you got?”

He offered a strangled laugh but knew she would get it. Following her lead, he reached into the bottom left drawer of his desk and pulled out a short glass and a half full bottle. As he splashed the amber liquid he started to talk. 

“It went well this morning. Idjit has always been smart on cars.” He shrugged even though he knew Ellen couldn’t see it, knowing she would sense it from their years of friendship. “He’s got some spot on ideas, some dreams that hinge upon realistic happenings.”

“And?”

Bobby took a swig of the whiskey, appreciating its unadulterated burn. “It’s like he’s two people. One that is bright and shiny and sees every car as some puzzle he can fix because it’s fun to do so. And then he turns, and the light hits his eye, and he’s a broken man who is filled full of sludged oil and a broken transmission line.”

Ellen rolled her eyes and swirled her more palatable glass of whiskey. Dean was the kind of kid that inspired whiskey at a young age. Sam, well, Sam wanted to be a good kid, wanted to succeed and follow the rules. She rarely needed anything harder than a stout beer when dealing with that boy. Even her own unruly daughter, who honestly took after her mother, rarely required more than one shot to handle. 

And then there was Dean Winchester. Beautiful, brash, pigheaded and determined to take care of all of those around him. He had the energy and gumption of more than a dozen typical men. She knew she wasn’t qualified to handle him, and neither was Bobby. But for years they were all the boy….no, man now, had to rely on. Though they were pseudo parents, a child never outgrew their parents and Ellen would fight like a mother bear.

“At least I get the car analogy,” Ellen stated dryly. “Jo will be home tonight.”

“What has that to do with shit?” he shot back. 

“Cas thought that an annoying not-quite-sister figure might help. Might be able to slide through the barriers because she has never seen any.”

“Jo.” Bobby let the thought roll around in his mind. “Does she know?”

Ellen had to swirl her glass again. “No.”

“And Cas...”

“Yeah. Cas.”

Bobby took a deep sip. “You really think...?”

Ellen bristled in her chair and fought back a feminine growl of protectiveness. “Yes, I think that Cas has a good read on Dean.”

Several muffled swear words came through the phone line. “I didn’t mean it that way, ya heifer. I don’t care who Dean has a fancy for. What kind of man do you take me for anyway? Don’t answer that.” He snapped and grinned imagined her doing so as well. “Just Jo and Cas though.”

She sighed audibly so that the other man could hear her. “I don’t know, Bobby,” she admitted. “I don’t know war and I don’t know trauma like this. What I’m willing to do is trust the younger generation that we molded might have a greater impact than we do. And if they don’t …well, we’re still here.”

“We’re always here,” Bobby agreed. “What are you going to tell Jo?”

In an uncharacteristic gesture, she ran a hand over her face. “I have no idea. I waffle between telling her what we think and seeing what she comes up with on her own.”

“Does Cas have an opinion?”

“I haven’t asked directly except to determine he thinks that she can only be a good influence.” She rested her head against the back of her office chair and blew a breath into her bangs. “I …well, Bobby, I’m scared.”

“You aren’t alone, Ellen,” he offered in a gruff voice. “What do we do now, then?”

“Pour salt and pray.”

Nodding, Bobby allowed his eyes to close. “Best option I’ve heard yet.”


	13. Chapter 13

Dean slid out of the car and headed up the stairs to the loft he shared with Cas. His body was both tight and loose in spots, hunched over cars always made his back ache and his shoulders roll, but he relished the deep ache in his muscles as a job well done. It was his mind he found to be looser, more focused and less sharp than it had been in ages. 

His keys echoed off the table as he tossed them down and it appeared he was home alone. Part of him was relieved and part of him was disappointed. He was sweaty and covered in grease and oil and dirt. But to him it was a good feeling. Today he had done something, he had fixed cars, helped people and rarely felt the cold snake of fear slither down his spine. 

Sliding into the kitchen, he took care not to brush up against anything. Though the coveralls caught much of the muck and mess, his t-shirt often took a beating and so did his arms. The air from the fridge was a cool draft and he plucked out the pitcher of iced tea and poured a glass. He took a deep draft, sighing in appreciation at the coolness sliding into his body.

“Dean? Is that you?”

He turned with a half gasp to find Cas standing in the doorway to his room, rubbing his eyes with one hand. The bartender was dressed in boxers and a tank top, framed by the sun glinting behind him. 

Dean bit back a grin at the wild hair and slumberous expression on the other man’s face. Though he felt his heart speed up it was less with fear than with pleasure. He didn’t really want to analyze that so he reached for another glass and poured some for the other man. 

Cas accepted the glass and drank it half down. He leaned on the countertop and blinked rapidly at Dean for a few moments as he came to full awareness. Those blue eyes then slid over Dean’s body. “Hmm. You look dirty. And satisfied.”

Smirking, Dean slid a hip against the countertop. “Maybe I am.”

Those blue eyes brightened as Cas smirked. “It’s a good look on you.”

“It can be a good look on you too.”

“Mmmm. Think so?” Cas stretched deliberately. “You wanna make me dirty again?”

Dean knew his eyes darkened at the thought, his blood thickened in response. “Not a bad idea, but Ellen might want you to be able to walk tonight.”

Cas laughed and what little tension that wasn’t sexual between them eased. “True enough. Can’t make the boss that mad. Limping she might let slide I think.”

“Ellen rarely lets anything just slide.”

The smirk that met him was knowing. “Agreed. But she’ll enjoy ragging me just as much as she would say she doesn’t. I win either way.” He tossed a suggestive grin over his shoulder. “So you gonna join me in the shower or stay dirty?”

Dean moved to follow the other man. “Who’s to say if I join you in the shower that you will end up clean?”

The bathroom that Dean had by the spare room was small but held the required amenities. Cas’s bathroom was much larger and had not only a large standing shower stall but a separate garden tub. The floor was tiled in warm muted red clay tones which matched the muted cherry colored cabinets well. Cas had dark green towels and accessories that complimented the tiles, and the white of the sink, toilet and tub made the dark colors seem not as overwhelming. Even the tub had a deep rim of the tiles and Dean considered the idea of lounging in there with glasses of wine and finger foods.

He hummed as he pulled off his shirt, watching Cas bend slightly into the shower to get it started and adjust the temperature. The man really did have an enviable lean body. And an ass to bounce quarters off of. 

Cas was out of his clothes in a flash and smirked at Dean as he had to toe off work boots and the rest of his dirty clothes. One of Dean’s cheeks had a smudge of oil but Cas kept that to himself since he thought it was a rather adorable look. Because he was watching so closely, he saw when Dean hesitated, when his movements faltered in removing his clothes.

Stepping closer, Cas slid one hand to Dean’s hip, eyes keeping to Dean’s face. “You’re beautiful, soldier,” he said softly. “Scars are tattoos with better stories. They make you who you are.” He slid a flirty glance over his shoulder as he moved into the shower. “Come scrub my back.”

Dean let out a huff of air as he watched the other man slide into the shower. It hadn’t hit him until this moment, but before Cas had only seen him in the dark. Sure, Cas had felt the scars, but he hadn’t seen them. Dean had found that the thought of and being faced with in the light were two different things.

Logically he knew there were many soldiers that had worse scars than he did, who had lost full limbs, sight or had multiple crippling injuries. In that regard, he was lucky. Much time had passed and the scars were no longer red and angry, even though they did cover a significant portion of his left side down past his hip. Many were faded and silver though some were still deeper and pink. 

While part of him was proud to bear the scars of serving his country, he also realized those words were told to soldiers and their families by those who sat behind desks and received no scars, only accolades for their decisions. What he felt wasn’t exactly shame, but in his youth he had been a beautiful man. He knew it, wasn’t one to mince words about it, and though it had taken time for him to accept those compliments, he had finally learned to live with it, to embrace it as part of himself. He knew his looks had helped him through life when he needed it and now he was scarred, battered and used. Dean knew he wasn’t quite so pretty now and he was vain enough to admit to himself that it stung.

He licked his lips and looked up to find Cas behind the glass, head thrown back as he sluiced water through his hair. A grin slid to his lips as he perused the slick skinned sight before him. Maybe Cas had a point. He inked himself to have something beautiful and unique to wear on his skin. Maybe his scars weren’t beautiful, but they were unique and they did tell a story. 

Dean slid the shower door open and came to stand before Cas. The other man hummed as the hot water ran over his body and slid a cloud of steam between them. Those blue eyes pinned him in place as lean hands came to caress down his chest. 

“Hmm. What say I wash you and jerk you off at the same time? Think you can handle that, soldier?”

Green eyes glinted as he reached for the body wash in the corner. “Only if we make it mutual.”

Wordlessly their hands became sudsy and slick, sliding over each other’s skin as if exploring for the first time. Soft gasps and grunts filled the air as they stroked each other. Cas leaned forward and bit into Dean’s shoulder, making him growl and come with an unexpected jerk, Cas right behind him. 

Together they lathered up their hair, washed off come and sweat before stepping out of the shower to dry off in fluffy towels. The mirrors were lightly fogged and Dean was amused by the lazy grin he saw on Cas’s face. He tucked the towel around his waist before scooping up his dirty clothes.

“I think Ellen will know exactly what you have been doing when she gets a look at your face,” Dean teased.

Cas huffed and wiped at the condensation on the mirror. “Probably. You don’t look any less debauched, Winchester.”

He slid over and nuzzled Cas’s neck before making to leave. “Yeah, but I’ve had years of practice in hiding it.”

Resting his hands on the sink, Cas stared into his own eyes in the blurred mirror. That had been a tense moment earlier, Dean realizing he was baring his scars to him in the light. Cas really wasn’t bothered by them. Everyone had scars of some sort, emotional, physical, and psychological or some combination of the three. To him they were simply part of the other man, not good or bad, just one facet. He hoped Dean could eventually understand that. 

He hung his head down and indulged in a deep breath. Dean Winchester was a complex and broken man. Which made him no less beautiful, but that much more dangerous to Castiel’s heart.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean allowed himself to bask in the haze of a good day at work followed by lazy shower sex. He felt warm and content and took his time dressing in dark jeans and another logoed t-shirt for work. 

He gathered up handfuls of clothes and frowned as he wondered about the laundry facilities. He vaguely recalled a door beyond the bar by the kitchen. Wondering if the washer was there, he walked that way. Sure enough, a large mud room with a large capacity washer and dryer stood waiting. Along the wall was a long rack for hanging clothes and a counter top he assumed was for drying items flat or for help in folding. 

Once the laundry was started, he headed back to his room to finish dressing. He paused as he looked at the gun magazine lying on the bed. Staring, he tried to figure out why it comforted him so much and still came up with no answer. With a sigh he picked it up, running his finger along the shells. Almost without thought, he ejected one and slid it into the top drawer of the small dresser in the room. 

It was an unconscious gesture and he took that to mean his mind was more relaxed. He felt like it was a good step. He still needed the magazine with him but now it held one less bullet. One less barrier between him and the world. So maybe it wasn’t a big step, but it felt right.

He headed down for his shift with a lightness to his step.

***

Mondays were not overly busy nights but they did run a beer special in order to draw in what extra patrons they could. Cas was behind the bar, as usual, moving with his swift and confident grace. Dean knew that Cas could be so much more than a bartender, but he liked seeing the man move, watched the way he interacted with people and the subtle twist of his lips when someone amused him. 

Dean ducked back into the kitchen. Ash was on the grill and shot him some three fingered redneck salute over his shoulder. With a shake of his head he sought Ellen out in the small back office that she kept. 

“You want me to do anything in particular?”

Ellen glanced up at him, her expression a little grumpy. “Yeah. It’s Monday. Take over the bar and tell Cas to make some music. I don’t care what.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and then closed his mouth before he spoke. He rapped his knuckles on the door frame. “You got it.”

 

A slight thrill ran through him as he slid behind the bar and gently bumped into Cas. “Ellen says for you to go make music.”

Castiel paused and threw him a small frown. “But it’s Monday.”

Dean shrugged. “I know. She had that grumpy, frowny face on so I didn’t argue. Said to play what you want.”

With a sigh, Cas tossed Dean his bar towel. “I know how to handle this. You got the bar?”

“No problem.”

“Great. All but the high top table have started tabs. Slow night but I think I can get them to hang and steer Ellen in a better mood at the same time.”

He wasn’t sure if the slight sway in Cas’s walk was for him or because he was about to play some music. Hiding his smile, he tucked the bar towel into the band of his apron and started to make quick rounds to touch base with each table and establish what they were drinking and what they might need. 

“Evenin’ folks,” Cas’s low voice cut across the crowd as he stepped out onto the small stage with a guitar. 

Dean could feel the undercurrent of twittering among the crowd and wondered how many of them were reaching for their phones to text friends so they could come running for the music. 

Cas slid onto the stool and adjusted the guitar and fiddled with the microphone. “It’s Monday so don’t get too excited. I’ll sing a bit, play a bit and maybe take a few requests.” Soft laughter came from the crowd. “I’m going for mellow tonight, something to relax and ease us all into the week.”

It took a few bars and Dean was nodding. The Plain White T’s song Hey There Delilah was a good first choice. It was mellow but catchy and even if Cas’s voice was a little low for the song, it still set up a good intro.

Dean and the one waitress moved food and beverages around and a few additional people did slide in and settle to hear the music. He found that he enjoyed the rhythm of the work and the background music that Cas set. He’d sing a song or two and then do something instrumental before going back to singing. At one point Dean walked over a tall glass of water and two fingers of whiskey on ice. The seductive wink he received had him hiding his face for a few minutes so the flush could die down.

A song Dean didn’t recognize at all had him raising his head. He noticed that Cas sang it with his eyes closed and it was about love. Another relaxed and yet happy song and he noticed that Ellen had edged out of the kitchen and was looking around. He shot her a cheeky salute and finished opening another bottle of wine for a table in the corner. 

“He plays a mean song or two,” Ellen commented as she slid onto a barstool near Dean.

“Does. Got that gravelly sort of whiskey soaked voice a lot of people like.”

She accepted the beer he slid her way. “He does. I imagine the offers he gets are rather lacking in vagueness.”

His eyes narrowed but he tried to keep his shoulders from tensing. “Makes sense. Ladies like a man whose hands are that nimble on more than one instrument.”

Ellen hummed and hid her smile behind taking a drink of the beer. She could still read Dean Winchester’s interest without half trying. “Guys too.” She shrugged at Dean’s sharp look. “Just saying guys like a versatile guy too. Take Balthazar.”

At that Dean snapped the bar towel over his shoulder and crossed his arms. He was unaware of the dominating presence he presented, especially against the music his lover was playing. “They are just friends.”

“We both know that. But we both know Balthazar would be willing for more.”

Dean ground his teeth but was stopped from commenting by Cas’s voice over the microphone. “Gonna call it an early night tonight, being Monday and all.” The crowd groaned and he laughed softly at them with eyes crinkling in the low light. “I won’t leave you hanging. How about a Roadhouse favorite before I go?”

Ellen was smiling before Dean recognized the song. It was a bit harsher on guitar only and he wasn’t a country fan but even he finally caught that it was Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar. It was fitting for the mix of the crowd and ended on a high note without too rowdy of an ending to the music. 

He enjoyed how several of the regulars in the place piped up at the chorus and joined in. Even Cas seemed to get a big kick out of that and he even smiled more than he usually did while playing. He enjoyed music but it was somewhat serious to him, like his drawing, and he enjoyed when he could let himself go into a song and just enjoy it with the crowd. 

Claps and a few whoops met him as he finished the set. Dean found himself smiling as he rinsed glasses and pulled a few more beers. 

“Well lookie here. What do I spy? A Winchester in the wild.”

Dean’s shoulders first stiffened at the voice and then he turned with laughter and light in his face. He looked her over. “What’s a Winchester worth if he isn’t a bit wild?”

Her smile was challenging as she shifted her weight from one hip to the other. He took in her lithe figure, long blond hair, and sassy expression with something between joy and older brother grumpiness. 

“Dean Winchester. Wild card extraordinaire. Wind finally blow you in the right direction?” she dared. 

He gave a half shrugged. “Ambled my way here. No one ever forgets the way home.”

She took a few stalking steps forward and he found himself blinking in response. “No? Hmm. Must’ve had the worst map in the world then cause your sense of direction sucks.”

He pushed himself away from the bar edge and rounded the end. “Now Jo—“

Her hand shot up between them as she shook her head, sorrow on her face. “No, Dean.” She closed her eyes and shook her head before looking directly at him again, eyes wide and full of emotion. “You home?”

He licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah.”

“You runnin’?”

This time he had to swallow. “Not anymore.”

In the wings both Cas and Ellen held their breath. The rest of The Roadhouse knew something was going on but they weren’t intimately involved and both Dean and Jo were keeping it low key enough. 

Jo’s stance softened slightly, her lips curving gently. “Good.” She walked up to him, stopping only inches away. “Welcome home, Dean.”

Dean crushed her to him, felt her arms wrap around him. It was different than with Ellen and Bobby. They were like parental figures, or an aunt and uncle, but Jo was close to his age. They weren’t quite like siblings but more like cousins that had been raised together. And it was like coming home. 

She cleared her throat, brown eyes threatening to spill over. “Missed you, Dean.”

He cupped her face. “I missed you too, Joanna Beth.”


	15. Chapter 15

Ellen ushered Dean and Jo into a corner booth, ignoring the protests from them both. She set Cas back behind the bar and waitressed a few tables herself. When the pints of a local brew were laid down by Cas followed shortly by the plates of bacon burgers and fresh onion rings, Dean had to admit he was finally, truly, at home.

Jo cocked her head and watched Dean take a large sip of beer and chase it with an onion ring. She saw the lines on his face, the set to his shoulders, and she wondered what had happened. Not one to ignore the subtle, she had seen the way her mom steered them toward the table and the slight nod that Cas sent her way.

Cas was a good guy. Originally when her mom brought him on she had been skeptical. But C as, well, Cas was unique and weird and he fit with the rest of the clan they called family. So when he set the beers down with a half tilt toward her and an eye slide, she caught the drift. They had known each other for more than five years and sometimes it took a variety of skills to run The Roadhouse. They all knew their parts by now. 

Shifting in her seat, Jo drew her full pint glass closer with a sigh as Dean pushed the mostly finished plate away. The burger had been seasoned and cooked perfectly, the onion rings crispy and tart. So she relished in what was much better food than she had had in three weeks while still assessing the eldest Winchester.

“How was the Marines?”

Dean flinched and almost caused his pint glass to tumble as his fist clenched around the glass. “Uh… Yeah. Was ok. I survived. I’m out and I’m here.”

She sipped her beer. “Uh-huh. And?”

“And what?” he shot back harshly.

Bingo echoed in her head but she made sure to put her beer down calmly and shrug. “Hey, I’m a country girl and you know it. I just wanted to know what other countries are like.” She slid some hurt into her voice. “Sorry I asked.”

Dean let out a huff of air and shifted in the booth. “Naw. Some parts are hard, but if you want to understand, I can try.” He blew out a breath. “War is hard and hot and uncertain.” He shot her a wry grin. “There is beauty to be found. Strange beauty.” He grinned full on and sipped his beer. “We see the expanse of desert on Discovery Channel but we really don’t get it. The land is quiet, and pure and solid. Until it gets disturbed. But until then, it’s a very peaceful calm expanse of sand.”

Jo licked her lips and tried to remain calm. His words were compelling and made her want to respond. He shifted on his seat and she watched as his eyes slid to Castiel across the room. Things began to make sense. No, she couldn’t ignore the issues Dean had, but she could begin to manage them. The hot look she received from Cas was an indication of progress.

With a sigh, Jo sat back and smiled lazily at Dean. “I’m glad you came home.”

The practiced Winchester carefree grin was her response. Ignoring that she slid out of the booth and watched as he fought to keep his eyes on her and not slide them to the bar. Oh, this was going to be fun.

Jo stretched and her eye caught her mother coming out from the kitchen. “Momma, I’m going to head to bed.”

Ellen embraced her daughter, caught the edge of her considerations. “Drive safe, baby. Dean has been picking up shifts but I’m happy to see you home.” 

Sliding near the bar, Jo leaned over as Castiel approached. She gave him as half smile as he leaned toward her, careful to make sure that Dean didn’t see her smile. “You’ve hooked him,” she challenged. 

Cas leaned close over the bar, sensing her game. “I have him on his toes. But it’s iffy.”

Concern slid over her face but she hid it behind a face duck and swoop. “He’s lost. And confused.”

Shifting slightly, Cas murmured an agreement. “And more. Nightmares. We’re sure there’s some PTSD.”

“Sam?”

“We’re ignoring him for now. You were step two.” He slid a hand to her cheek in a daring move. It would anger the elder Winchester but it was also something he would do if they were talking seriously about other things. “It isn’t going to be easy.”

“Those his fingers around your neck?”

Cas almost ducked his head but only pulled back slightly. “I thought I had them hidden.”

She nodded. “Mostly, but to me you relax. So I saw a bit more. A nightmare?”

“Yes. And he’s scared of them.”

“Should be.” She left out a deep huff without moving. They had perfected a sort of non-moving conversation over the years. “Can we help him?”

“I think so.”

“That’s it?!”

He shrugged. “That’s it. I can’t see any more than that. And I think we need Sam.”

Her head tilted in thoughtful consideration. “Pain in the ass brother, pain in the ass almost sister, loving pseudo mom and pop and sexy boyfriend. I can see it.” Jo blinked when his blue eyes seared hers. “Don’t try and play me Castiel. You two sizzle.”

He blushed lightly but kept her gaze. “Not sure it’s for the best.”

Jo clucked. “He needs to be shaken up as much as he needs stability. Bobby and my mom provide the stability, always have. We have to provide the uncertain.”

Cas frowned harshly. “Could be painful.”

“More so if we don’t. I need to be able to count on you Cas.” Her shoulders eased at his nod. “Sam’ll be back this week. We need a plan. I’ll arrange a meeting.”

Those blue eyes seared into hers. “I want him and he wants me, Jo. But I won’t exploit that. He’s an ex-soldier who has seen too much. I, for one, respect that even if I don’t understand it.”

Her smile was soft as he leaned into him. “Exactly. From you he has desire and want. From Bobby and Momma he has acceptance and a welcome home. From me and Sam he has just enough irritation to feel like he’s been here for years.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to,” Jo offered, leaning slightly back. “Yet I think you want to know the man underneath. The one before the war.”

Cas frowned. “Unreasonable. He is shaped by the war just as much as he was shaped by his life before he joined the military. Look,” he offered softly. “I have brothers. I know a little bit. Yet, Dean is a different animal.”

Jo rubbed her hands together with a wry smile. “Yeah, you have him pegged. But it’s you and me tonight and Sam isn’t here, which means we stand a chance. With Sam we’re fucked because Dean will fight.”

Cas twitched a grin. “Such language from a lady.”

Laughing, Jo downed the rest of her beer. “Not my only vice, bartender.”

Cas flipped the bar towel over his shoulder. “Touché, waitress extraordinaire.”

Her dark brown eyes slid to the side. “You take care of that boy.”

“He’s a man,” Cas responded. 

She pursed her lips. “Most of him is, but I think is heart is closer to that of a boy. One that is uncertain and scared.” She rapped her knuckles on the bar. “See ya round, blue eyes.”

Cas swept his eyes towards Dean as he slid a towel across the bar. What he saw was a beautiful man, scarred and scared and buried beneath years of military resolution. Dean’s hand caressed the pint glass as he seemed to be in contemplation. His lips caressed the glass edge as he took the last swallow, his Adam’s apple working and Cas turned away with a quiet curse. 

Ellen’s voice called out for Dean and Cas looked up at her tone. She swirled her finger at him and he nodded. The sign to get the lingering patrons out because they were done whether it was time or not. Ellen has a sense about these things and it was what kept The Roadhouse in the black. 

He moved quickly and efficiently, noting that Dean disappeared into the back where it was either cooking or stock. He lost that focus in the rhythm of saying good nights and closing out tabs. Monday night was mostly polite regulars and a few odd new dates and Cas had ample experience with them both. 

By the time he had wiped down the bar, set the small bar dishwasher to run, locked the front door and dimmed the lights, he found himself on edge, counting juice stock and wine bottles with nervous energy. 

“You’re done, Cas,” Ellen’s softest voice broke his silence. He turned, the towel slipping off the bar where he was wiping it.

“Yeah?”

She gave a half smirk. “Yeah. Head to bed.” When he opened his mouth she gave her signature Mom look. “You’re done. I made you sing on an off night which slides the scale.” And when she rapped her knuckles on the bar with a knowing grin all he saw was Jo. “So get going.”

Cas swallowed and hesitated but he eventually passed the bar towel to her and headed upstairs. Ellen was bad enough to deal with but when you had Ellen and Jo team up you were down for the count no matter what you thought.

The apartment was dark and quiet when he entered and he relaxed into the anonymity. Dean was still downstairs and for now the space was all his. And after work he liked a quick hot shower, more to rinse off than soap up, and he closed his eyes under the spray, remembering the way their bodies slid together in the shower and after. 

Cas sighed as he toweled off. Being a progressive sort of individual, he pulled out a facial moisturizer and also slid a few scoops of coconut oil over his skin. Women did not have a monopoly on skincare and as a runner and former swimmer he had learned that he had to take care of his skin or he was itchy all the time. Coconut oil did not soil clothes or bed sheets and that made it ideal. Plus it had a mild scent and he could add essential oils to in order to achieve his personal preference.

But that was beyond something Dean was willing to acknowledge just yet. Cas could imagine anointing his freckled body in coconut oil, especially his hands and forearms, as the massage alone would be beneficial and sensual but he knew Dean wasn’t ready for that. 

He slid on a pair of boxers, with cows on them all of all things, and was still drying his hair when he heard the door open. Cas paused, breath catching in his throat as he found himself stilling for each and every sound. 

Dean blew out a breath as he tossed the keys on the small entry table. He quietly shuffled forward into the apartment. The large windows let in dull lamp lights and the hint of moonlight. He found himself relaxed by that and moved across the hardwood floor, his footsteps muffled but not undetectable. 

In the dim light Cas stood just beyond the doorway and tried to see Dean as he peered into the glowing light. His heart beat a bit fast and he wasn’t sure what the other man expected. But from all sides he gathered that he had to be the initiating force. Which was not his strong point. 

Sliding to the door frame, Cas slid one arm up to clutch the frame and one arm low across his abdomen. He was amazed at how quickly Dean’s gaze sharpened and slid over him even as he quieted to the point of statue-like stillness. 

Cas knew they were at a crossroad. He slid his arm a little along the door frame and allowed his eyes to hood with the fatigue he felt. “You coming to bed, Dean?”

With a quick swallow and a lip lick in his vision Cas turned away and headed to the bed. First, he was tired. Second, Dean was vulnerable here and if he couldn’t see him Dean was more likely to respond. 

Cas was snuggled under the covers on his side, the comforter pulled up to his chin as he faced the window. He purred as another body slid along his, heating him with each brush, to cuddle against him and slide an arm over his waist.

Cas hummed and wiggled to get comfortable. A warm breath landed on his ear. “I have you, Cas. I’ve got you.”

With Dean’s rumble in his ear Cas slid deeper into the warmth their bodies provided and let his eyes shut, let his body sink into a deep sleep.  
 


	16. Chapter 16

With a half snuffle Cas awoke and jerked in the bed. The only response was a huff and shift from his bed partner, though the face buried in his neck actually nuzzled deeper. His heartbeat sped up when he realized that Dean was still in bed with him and that there had been no nightmares. He let out a deep breath and sank back down into the mattress, trying to relax.

A quick glance at the clock told him he had a few minutes before he had to get up and run and he was going to see that Dean came with him this morning. In a slow roll he turned to face the other man, which put Dean curled toward him, his face mostly buried now in Cas’s pillow. 

Dean was beautiful this way. Relaxed and soft and not burdened by his daily issues. Freckles stood out on golden skin. They dusted over his high cheekbones and fanned out across his wide shoulders. The lines around his eyes were relaxed and his mouth looked positively sinful. With a muffled curse Cas fought his way free of the bedding or he knew they would be there for another hour or so. 

A mischievous grin lit his face as he observed the former soldier, golden skin exposed to his waist and short hair in disarray. Those plump lips were slightly pursed in sleep and so dark pink. Cas bit his own lip and slipped around the bed. 

With a flash he slapped Dean on the ass and hopped into the bathroom, trying to muzzle his laughter.

Shooting up with a curse, Dean realized it was morning, he hadn’t had a nightmare and that he was in Cas’s bed. He grinned and remembered the sting on his ass and he strode out of bed in seek of his attacker. 

Cas had his toothbrush in his mouth when Dean entered and he offered raised brows. The tousle headed bartender frowned at him and he spit out a mouthful of toothpaste. “We need to run, Dean.”

“So you had to slap my ass for that?”

Cas smirked and slid by Dean, pulling on a lightweight and yet breathable half zip. His blue eyes glinted. “I did. You wanna slap mine back, you have to chase me… and win.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Dean headed to his room, cursed and shrugged into a t-shirt and toed into his shoes. At the base of the stairs he realized that Cas took pity on him so they could stretch and Dean could actually tie his shoes.

“Same route?” Cas suggested. 

Dean shrugged. “Sure. Can even push the distance a little, but probably not the pace.”

In honesty, Dean hated to run. Hated exercise. But chasing Cas made it fun. Watching that lean body made him hard, made him want to look good. Made him want to be strong enough to hold Cas’s lean body beneath him as he fucked violently into him and made them both mindless with pleasure.

Years in the military had conditioned him to put mind over matter so he moved on his feet, one in front of the other, in the rhythm that Cas set, with little thought. After the first mile his jaw finally unclenched and he found he could breathe easier. His limbs began to feel loose even as they worked into the pace of the run. 

His body began to hum, his mind to clear, as he gave into the movement of his body. A lot of people didn’t understand running, didn’t understand the surrender that was required. Dean knew in the beginning of his military career he had fought and protested and lashed out. Once he found the rhythm of his body, once he stopped fighting, it all became that much easier. 

It wasn’t that unlike giving into an orgasm. The pressure built and built and eventually one had to give into it or have it pass by which ended in frustration and anxiety. So he learned to breathe into the sensation of the run – sometimes the pain – and let go of himself into it. 

Few people in his past would believe that Dean Winchester was capable of capitulation. Sometimes he still surprised himself with it. However, he had learned well the concept of surrender in desperation. Not that Cas needed to know that, nor did any of his extended family. More often than not he found it shameful within himself. Not for something as unpretentious as running, but there was much more that he could feel shame for.

Soldiers were often praised for their bravery, their selflessness and their ability to perform under pressure. From a removed view, Dean could understand and accept this skewed view. As one who had been in the trenches, one with weeks of stink upon his skin and stale provisions, the scent of his men’s misery baked into his pores, he tried to hide his sneers of disapproval. 

Being a well built and attractive man, Dean had often been pushed to the forefront for being a model soldier. He looked commanding in his uniform, took good pictures, he gave humble press because of his natural inclination toward privacy but rose to the occasion to talk with the crowds when necessary. He likened it back to his days in the drama club and how to draw upon the concept of a character to get him through the interview.

With Cas it wasn’t the public pressure he was used to, but running in a smaller town required an openness he wasn’t quite used to anymore. People waved at them as they fetched their newspapers, honked at them with a smile as they drove around them, and the bicyclers were the friendliest with hollered comments and jovial laughter due to their shared early morning activities. 

Normally this sort of activity would raise the bile in his throat. He found that following Cas, who he suspected to be solitary by nature but approachable by requirement, made it a bit more acceptable. Cas was easy on the eyes with that tousled dark hair and deep blue eyes. He was young enough to catch the college crowd and intense enough for the older women. And, well, the older men too. Dean wasn’t a prude and, after Balthazar, he had to be realistic. 

As they rounded a steep corner Dean found himself gritting his teeth and thinking of burgers and bourbon. He knew what would get him through and knew this hill was Cas’s punishment to him. A feral grin bared his teeth and he pushed through behind the more lithe man, his focus on the burning in his thighs, the swing of his arms and the momentum in his gut.

They soon glided into the more graceful rhythm that carried them into the parking lot of The Roadhouse. Both young men were breathing harshly and as they mutually progressed into a half jog/walk and Cas held his side with a grimace. 

“Great climb, Dean,” the darker headed man offered in a slightly strained voice.

“What?” Dean huffed. “My calves are on fire, my lungs want to burst and all I want to do is collapse in a puddle.”

Dean grumbled at the chuckle he heard from Cas but he slowed down to a stop as well and then they both began to stretch. Cas always liked to start with his upper body and work his way down to his legs but Dean felt he had to start with his hamstrings or his body would seize up on him for the rest of the day.

“Those bicyclers are crazy,” Dean offered, bending over to begin the gentle bobbing stretch before he pushed farther.

“I agree. Cars are dangerous enough for us runners and I can’t imagine going as fast as they do on a bike and still trusting the drivers.” Cas was working his shoulder muscles loose.

Dean groaned as he slid into a deeper stretch, his hamstrings protesting and pulling tight. He tried not to grit his teeth and searched for something to talk with Cas about since he found distraction to be the best way to outsmart his body.

“So what was that book that the arrogant customer kept trying to talk about that drew Ellen’s attention to you?” Though not an avid reader, Dean found a few authors to his liking and wanted to know the book so he might find a way to read it.

“Hmm.” Cas shifted into a stretch of his legs. “Oh. That book. Tolstoy. It was…”  
Dean glanced up from his painful stretching as Cas’s voice drifted off. He found his companion to be standing stock still, eyes focused on a maroon car in the distance. A man was leaning against the hood of the car watching them.

“Stay here, Dean.”

Cas’s voice was sharp and edged with something bordering on irritation. Dean gave up all pretenses of stretching and watched as Cas strode with long and purposeful strides across the parking lot. The man leaning against the car stood up and grinned as Cas approached. 

While not close enough to hear their conversation, Dean could hear a few words and phrases and though Cas tried to keep the conversation quiet in the beginning, Dean could see the taunting glint in the other man’s eyes. 

Eventually Cas’s voice was raised to something close to yelling and that set Dean on edge. Obviously the man was someone well known to Cas and that was the only thing stopping him from charging across the parking lot to punch the shorter man in the face. 

When Cas began to gesture wildly as his voice became dangerously low, Dean found his body tensing, ready to fight, ready to protect and serve. He had to force himself to shake his head and then flex his limbs to keep himself from action.

Cas glanced back over his shoulder at Dean and then his body sagged a little as he turned back to the man at the car. The conversation was more civil and then Cas finally nodded stiffly and turned to walk back to Dean. The man at the car grinned widely and shot Dean a salute before gunning the car and peeling out of the parking lot.

Cas jogged back to Dean without a backward glance. He came to a halt and then stood there a bit formally, uncertain what to say.

“Everything ok Cas?”

Dean watched as Cas tore his hands through the uncontrollable dark strands of his hair. “Not really. That was my brother Gabriel. Normally we get along but today he came with his more irritating personality traits.”

“This the brother that owns the tattoo parlor?”

Cas gave a wry grin. “The one and only. Let’s head up.”

Dean realized Cas was dodging the topic and gave a grunt before he followed Cas to their apartment. His mind was whirling, he wanted to ask so many questions and yet he found himself anxious and pissed. Not a good combination.

Cas whirled to face him shortly after he tossed the key on the table just inside the door. His features were pinched and his shoulders tense. “I’m sorry that you had to see Gabe like that. Really, sorry that you have to come in contact with any of my family.”

Dean felt himself relax, he knew complicated family issues. “Cas, I don’t mind. You seemed stressed and he seemed well, jovial maybe? I’m just a little confused.”

“And you should be, Dean. I’ve mentioned Gabe before. We’re as close as we can be and closer than I am to the rest of my family.” Cas sighed and ran and hand through his hair. “We don’t have a lot of time but I don’t want to leave you hanging either.” His teeth came out to worry at his bottom lip, but his eyes were clear as they met his. “Can I give you the condensed version now and we can talk later tonight?”

Emotions rolled through him but he realized that Cas was being both reasonable and more than accommodating. Without thought his hand reached for the right pants pocket and encountered emptiness. His heart began to beat but he tried to calm it and cleared his throat roughly to cover up his desire to whimper at his lack of self-control. 

Cas glanced at Dean but refrained from commenting. “You know that I came here penniless, bedraggled and alone. And Ellen fed me,” he smiled a bit in response to the memory, but his face soon darkened. “What isn’t so clear is why I ended up here. I’m not from Kansas. Illinois really. Where I grew up anyway. Still the Midwest and still that mentality, which is important to remember.”

As he talked, Cas moved to the kitchen to pour them cool water soaked with fresh lemon slices. Dean kept the bar counter between them as he felt that Cas needed a bit of room. So he drank deeply of the water, glad Cas talked him into the lemon slices and sat down on a stool.

“Ok. So you grew up in Illinois and eventually you ended up here. I guess there is a reason why.”

Cas rested his hip against the far counter so they were facing each other across the length of the kitchen. “I grew up in a normal family, the youngest of four, until the age of six. My parents died in a car wreck and my Uncle Zachariah took over raising us. He had two boys of his own and none of us meshed well together.” He licked his lips, trying to find the words. “My parents were open and loving. They liked us to be kids, to be creative. It wasn’t anything for us to be covered in flour and sugar –and the kitchen too- and have no real results to show for it. We drew in finger paints and chalk on the long driveway.” He let out a chuckle. “Our lives were filled with color and singing and too many hugs to count. Oh yes, there was discipline, there were rules, but we also were autonomous beings allowed to feel and live and love and experience life.”

Dean felt his throat constrict. It was so very different from the way he and Sam had been raised. “What happened?” he croaked. 

“Uncle Zachariah was…harsh. He believed that children should do what they were told, rarely be seen, never be heard and uphold the family name. He didn’t believe in crayons or sidewalk chalk or home baked cookies.” Cas licked his lips, lost in his memories. “It wasn’t as hard for me because I was six. But Luc was twelve and Gabe was ten. They were used to rules that made sense that allowed them to talk and explain and be individuals.” He shuddered. “That wasn’t allowed after my parents died. Uncle Zachariah well… he set out rules and consequences.”

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn’t want to hear this but he needed to hear it. He needed to let Cas talk, to let him in, to let them be equals in their pain. “Go on,” Dean encouraged, his voice low and rough.

Cas’s voice took on a sing song quality as if he were lost in memories but somehow separate from them. “We were expected to get certain grades, to do certain chores. I was six and still young and gangly and didn’t understand all the rules. What happened was that I didn’t like P.E. I didn’t really do well in the group sports we were forced to participate in during class. So that first time I came home, my report card was covered in A’s except for P.E. I was given a C because I was clumsy and just not a team player.” He licked his lips. “That was the first time he beat me.” Laser pointed blue eyes lifted to bore into green. “I found out not long after that Luc most, but Gabe some, had taken punishments for me because they promised to teach me how to conform.”

He shifted against the counter top, hand running over his mouth. “Michael was the oldest of us but he was seventeen when Mom and Dad died. He really didn’t get to experience what the rest of us did. Constant beatings; harassment, emotional and physical pranking from Uncle Zachariah’s two kids, Uriel and Raphael. They were cruel and relentless. They could do no wrong where we were concerned. And it got really bad when they realized I was gay.”

“Cas,” Dean started brokenly. “You don’t have to do this.”

Cas’s smile was soft but sure. “I do. You need to know. You’re not whole, Dean Winchester. Neither are you truly broken. Because if you are, so am I.”

Dean moved around the counter as Cas was speaking to take the other man’s shoulders in his hands. “Hell is hell, Cas, no matter when you experience it or who makes you experience it. We can talk later. I see it in your eyes.”

Cas laid and gentle hand on Dean’s cheek. “If only you believed your words, soldier. Your Hell is different than my Hell, but we both had a Hell.” Moving forward he put his forehead against the other man’s. “I agree to stop talking now. But we both have more to say, to tell.”

Shuddering with emotion, Dean took a breath but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, Cas. Yeah, we do. But I don’t want to push you and I can’t push me.”

Pulling back, blue eyes smiled brightly. “Well said. We both need room and we both need to talk. Bits and pieces at a time.” Cas pulled away to stand straight and offered a crooked smile. “Head to the shower, Soldier. Bobby is expecting you soon and I have paperwork calling my name.”

Dean wanted to protest, to pull them into the shower together but he realized the rationality that accompanied Cas’s words. Cas didn’t say he didn’t want to shower together, but he found a way to give them both space to breathe, shower apart and not feel bad about it. 

Cas nuzzled into the calloused hand that Dean caressed along his jaw. He fought to make a raw sound of need since he realized that Dean probably did it without thought. So he opened his eyes and smiled even as he gave the last nuzzle and made sure his eyes were warm. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah,” Dean offered. “I’m only on as relief so just holler if you need me.”

The dark headed man tossed a look over his shoulder as he sauntered into his own room. “Oh yeah, I think I can holler just right.”


	17. Chapter 17

Dean strode into the auto shop with a lighter soul and clearer mind than he had in several days. A good run, a letting out of some of the dark shadows that followed them both helped him feel on more equal ground. He’d known Cas had his own demons and now they had shared a bit more of those between them. It eased the tension for him. He’d even felt light enough to slip another bullet out of the magazine and into the top drawer.

He had watched them roll around a bit as he opened the drawer, silenced by the balled up socks Dean had placed on either end to keep them from making too much noise. The magazine was half empty now. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to give it up completely but he stared at those bullets with a sense of accomplishment. 

For years he had been drifting in a hell of his own making. Or, at least, a hell he couldn’t prevent from happening. The shrink he’d had to see before he was discharged really tried to drill that into his head. Here, home, with family and friends, he was beginning to see how those words might make actual sense. Before then, it had just been useless words that caused bitter bile to rise in his throat. 

Actually, it was meeting Saul that had starting the nagging in the back of his head. This old man, selling the last tangible link to his dead son – dead soldier son – letting go, finally letting go as his own life was whittled away by pain and the gnawing of the beast that was cancer. 

He saw Saul as a soldier in his own right. Those that went into the military, any branch, were soldiers and deserved the laud that came with that. The true soldiers that deserved even more, deserved the medals, were the family and friends that stood behind, next to, with clasped hands and bowed heads in prayer for those that shipped off in uniform. The true soldiers, the ones that held the fort and kept the light burning, were often unsung and unrecognized. 

Realizing he was working himself out of his happy mood, he shook his head and thought about the smirking glance Cas had tossed over his shoulder. That made him smile again and put a saunter into his step as he swung open the door of the small lobby.

“Mornin’, Bobby. What’s on the agenda?”

Bobby glanced up from the plastic covered job orders in his hand. His expression was bland with slightly raised eyebrows. “You seem chipper. Mrs. Meyers is back. Asked for you specifically.”

Dean rolled his eyes and reached out a hand. “What now?”

“She was so impressed with the work you did on replacing her transmission, she is back for a complete overhaul,” Bobby offered as he handed over the work order. “Full works. All fluid drain and refill including brake, transmission and oil. She wants you to overhaul the car.”

Dean licked his lips. “Uh.”

Bobby nodded. “It’s ok. I’ve built in a good discount. Her husband died two years ago and since then she ends up in here more often than not. He kept up with all those things car related, told her enough to be knowledgeable, but not knowledgeable enough to live without him.”

Dean nodded and swallowed hard, Saul’s face in the back shed swimming up before his eyes. “I got this, Bobby.”

The older man shifted his stance and shot a surprisingly shrewd glance at his employee. “You sure? She’s in the lounge, waiting to talk to you.”

At this, Dean relaxed and almost laughed. “Yeah. I got it. You just clear my schedule until two, ok.” And before Bobby could respond, he pushed out the door into the garage area, and then into the small lounge provided for customers. 

He found the small Mrs. Meyers seated there. She sat very still, her back against the straight plastic of the chair, her legs crossed at the ankles. Her hair was a natural grey-white and he appreciated that rather than the blue that so many salon going older women sported. Then he noticed her hands clenched on the straps of her purse clutched in her hands. The rest of her screamed calm but her hands said otherwise. Dean knew what that was like. 

With a silent deep breath, he forced his face and shoulders to relax as he moved toward her. “Good morning, Mrs. Meyers.” Her eyes flicked to his quickly and he squatted down next to her chair with a soft smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“And you.” But her smile was strained. 

Without thought he laid a hand on her knee. “I’m going to take care of your car. You don’t need to worry at all.”

She deflated a little at that, her eyes solemn on his. “Carl always took care of this stuff.” Her fingers clenched the leather straps again. “I always asked to tag along, just to watch, but he laughed me off, telling me I would never have to worry.” She bit her lip and her watery eyes met his. “I know I come here too often. I just don’t know what to do when. My son lives in the next town over,” she smiled a little as she told him that. “And I don’t want him to worry. He has three children and his wife is a wonderful girl but tired from all those babies. I want to go and see those babies and give her a little break but …” and now her smile faltered, “I don’t know if my car can make it and what I should do.”

Dean smiled and squeezed her knee gently, making her meet his eyes again. “Tell you what, I’ll fix your girl up good today, make sure she can more than make the drive there and back and check the seatbelts for the kids. I’ll also work up a sheet for you so you know when to come in.” At her worried look he hurried on. “The sheet will be for general stuff, when you need an oil change, etc. But,” and he waggled his eyebrow with a smile, “If the old girl makes a weird noise, or leaks some fluid or you just don’t feel right, you call us, ok? I’ll make sure Bobby knows. And I can flag your file so that if you call or if you come in, anyone who checks the file will know to notify me.”

Her soft, wrinkled hand came to cup his cheek. Her grey-blue eyes smiled, face covered in the gentle crinkles of age. “Thank you, Dean.”

He cupped her hand with his own. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Meyers. You remind me of a friend of mine.”

It was then, in her bright smile, that he saw the beauty of her youth. “Please call me Mabel.”

Dean nodded. “Mabel. Can I have someone take you home? It will be several hours to work on the car.”

“Jean-Louise.”

“Excuse me?”

Mabel chuckled. “That’s what my husband called her. Jean-Louise.”

He cast a glance over his shoulder through the glass window to look at her car. Dark maroon, four-door sedan, well-kept and still with a shine even with her age. He knew the interior was leather, which, given its age, was a luxury item. Turning back, his smile was genuine and open with the love of cars. 

“I will take care of Miss Jean-Louise. Will you allow me to get someone to take you home? It will be boring and hot for you here,” he explained. 

Her lips twisted in an amused smile. “You mean that the younger boys will be intimidated by my presence and will feel they have to curb their cursing.”

Dean’s smile was wide and infectious at that point, eyes bright as he stood up. “Miss Mabel, you read us boys too well.”

She took his hand, her lips tart but eyes laughing. “Well, I do have two of my own. And two more grandchildren that are boys.” She glanced out at the cars. “Are you sure I need to go?”

“You will be more comfortable as it will take me a few hours to care for her properly,” Dean persuaded. “I’ll be sure to call about an hour before I plan to be done do you can look her over and see if anything needs to be changed.”

“And, ma’am,” a voice intruded from the door that led from the general lobby, “I’m Charlie. I would personally be happy to drive you home and to keep you updated.”

The intruder wore a pair of dark skinny jeans but it was the well faded, well-worn Star Trek shirt that commanded his attention. Over that she wore an open plaid shirt in blues and greys. So he cleared his throat. 

“Yes, Miss Mabel, please let Charlie see you home. You will be much more comfortable. I promise not to make any changes to her, other than those you have authorized, without calling you first.”

The older lady chuckled and shook herself. “You both probably think I am old and silly.”

“No, ma’am,” the redhead began almost before the older lady finished. She ducked her head for bringing attention to herself and her smile was shy. “I’m an only child and my dad really hoped for a boy. So I grew up with engines, drills, and screwdrivers in my hand. But I’m unique.” Her eyes flicked to Dean, bright and serious. “If you want to know about your car, Dean and I can show you.”

The older woman moved toward Charlie with a chuckle. “I don’t really want to know the inner workings. I want to know that I can come to a place where I trust the people.”

Charlie offered Mabel her arm with a flourish. “Well reasoned, milady.” She shot an amused look at Dean. “Our knight will groom your steed, water and feed her before calling you.” Their chatter trailed off as they walked away.

Dean found himself watching them far too long, following their forms, Charlie several inches taller than Mabel – Mrs. Meyers—and yet they seemed to connect as Charlie led her to a small VW Beetle in yellow. It honestly suited Charlie but he was surprised to find Mrs. Meyers slip so easily into the smaller vehicle. He watched as the compact vehicle zipped away.

“Still not a fan of foreign cars,” Bobby offered, “But we service all kinds.”

“Mrs. Meyers is good people,” Dean agreed. “Who the hell is Charlie?”

Bobby chuckled, which Dean was surprised at. “You started on an off week, my man. Charlie has been with me almost five years. Hell of a secretary, computer geek hybrid something,” the older man stumbled to explain. “She takes off random two weeks here and there to go to conventions of some sort.” Bobby shook his head as he moved toward his office in the back. “I don’t get it and I don’t want to.”

Dean shrugged as Bobby walked off, realizing there was something he missed in the transaction. But, as he approached the maroon sedan, he felt his spirits lift since he had a connection to the car and the person. He sent a shrill whistle across the room and the mullet head of Ash lifted up over a dark and dusty hood. Dean made a motion with his hand and shortly the music changed to that of a rock beat. Smiling, he fell into the routine of car and grease.

It was after one o’clock in the afternoon when Dean felt he could take a breath and come out from beneath Mrs. Meyers’ sedan. Until then he had focused on the beat of the music, the rhythm of the job and the pull in his muscles to help dictate his movements. 

Suddenly, he was tightening the last bolts under Mrs. Meyers car, oops, wait –Jean-Louise-- before he felt the unnatural calm in his bones. Even as he slid out from under the car, wiping his hands on a shop rag, he felt comfortable in his work, steeped in the minutiae of grease and auto body terminology.

Dean agreed to stick around until Mrs. Meyers – Mabel-- came for the car. He saw her and her husband, and their years together in the worn patterns in the leather, the gentle scraping on the floor mats and the hand placement that had worn the leather smooth on the steering wheel. He bowed his head onto the steering wheel in a moment of weakness, wanting to absorb the years of love and devotion worn in to the leather.

“My husband was the same,” came the soft voice that caused him to raise his head. Mabel was a foot away from the open driver’s side door. He started and stood up. Her gaze was soft and sure. 

“The car is home to you. I think you have a couple cars that offer that.” She tilted her white-grey head and he almost saw stars. “There are arguments and forgiveness scrubbed into the seats.” She turned toward the hood, hand on the door frame, eyes and smile wide. “We argued and we made up here. No, it’s not a glamourous car but he bought it to surprise me. So it means a lot.”

“It should,” Dean croaked. 

Her wrinkled hand, creped and loose from time and sorrow, laid upon his and he was moved to stillness. Her eyes were warm and open, full of understanding and compassion. 

“What does yours looks like?”

Dean swallowed. “Right now she’s a bit small and well worn.”

Mabel’s head tilted. “But she’s not the only one, or the first.”

He smiled reluctantly. “Nope. But, I had some time away and home isn’t quite the same as it was before.”

The older woman nodded with a knowing look on her face. “Life is full of cycles. Some are comfortable, some are not and some are in-between.” She smiled softly at him. “I think you are at a crossroad.” She chuckled and shrugged. “But I’m just an old woman.”

Dean found his trademark smile. “You’re more than that. I bet you cut a rug in your time.”

Mabel laughed out loud, her rusted pealing tone calling forth others that poked their head over hoods and around corners. She smiled openly at Dean, her eyes wet with happy laughter. “You flirt.” She leaned in close. “In my day we would have called you a reprobate, a gambler, maybe even a rake.” And yet her eyes twinkled and she winked as she took the keys from him. “You, Dean my boy, are something else.” Her eyes raked over him with a practiced gaze. “Mmm. To put you in a three piece suit calling to mind the Chicago of the 1920s….” her smile was seductive and knowing. “Well, I’d say you could have your pick.”

Dean found himself blushing and ducking his head as he shut the driver’s door. “I think you flatter me, Miss Mabel,” he muttered. 

“Oh son, you are blind to your attributes. Or- “and she cast him a knowing gaze,”-you like to pretend to be.”

He licked his lips and leaned into the driver’s side window with a grin. Her eyes lit up at the look on his face and they shared a comfortably wicked gaze.

“Can I ask? Do you have someone?” she asked gently, reveling in their shared secret.

He gaze a soft sigh. “Yeah.”

“Muscle car or sleek little coupe?”

Dean frowned a little. “I don’t understand.”

Her lightly rouged lips pursed. “I’m no dummy, boy. You like boys or girls or both?”

At that he coughed and almost pulled away from the window. Her gaze was calm and even and she simply blinked at him as he sputtered and coughed. She waited, even, as he gazed around the shop. 

“How did you…?”

“Dean,” she rested her hand on his arm where it sat on the rolled down window frame. “I might be old, but that means I’ve seen a bit of the world. I have a niece and a granddaughter that like their own kind.” She shrugged. “Who am I to judge? Love is love, yes?”

He was taken aback by her easy acceptance. He found himself backing up and blinking at it, lost in thought. When he looked again, she still had the open look on her face. 

“Cas. His name is Cas.”

She winked. “I bet he’s really pretty.”

Dean laughed out loud and enjoyed her own chucked response. “He is. All tousled dark hair and really big blue eyes. And he’s family of my family.”

Mabel’s head cocked. “Even better. Family that isn’t blood is often the most honorable.” She started the car. “I’ll be bringing Jean-Louise back soon. I have your schedule.”

Dean patted the hood and took a step back. “I’ll look forward to seeing the old gal.”

He watched as Mabel drove off in her well served, aging sedan. His smile faded to something faint, but it wasn’t any less jubilant in his heart. Something about the transaction brought back the elation in his heart. He poured himself into the last few oil changes and tire rotations with a sense of dedication and ease.

***

As the day eased to an end, Dean wiped his hands on a well-worn cloth shop. It had started its days as red but was now a well faded pink that mocked them all. Dean didn’t care about the color, just the ability to absorb dirt and grease. 

“Dean!” came the gruff call. “Kick off. We’re done today.”

Dean turned to see Bobby in the doorway between the shop and lobby/offices. He nodded. “Lock up the front. I have a bit of stuff to go through back here. I’ll lock up the back.”

He was grateful that Bobby muttered a goodbye and left him to it. After the maroon sedan, the regal Jean-Louise, he wanted to spend some quiet time alone with the cars still in the shop, the tools, and the scent of grease. 

What he really wanted to do was open the door to the back shed. With the heat, they had the back roll-up door open almost all day. It would be something he had to lock down before he left. Right now, right now, it was open and framed the outlying shed with the setting sun. He paced to the end of the concrete and kept wiping his hands on the faded pink cloth. 

With a muttered curse, he tucked the shop cloth into the waistband of his jeans. He’d stripped out of the coveralls about an hour ago due to both the heat and his well-greased appearance. Thank hell for coveralls. 

His heart beat sped up just a bit as he approached the shed door. With another curse he ripped the keys from his pocket and opened the lock before he could stop himself. Dean flung open the shed doors, dust swirling up around him, causing him to squint through the haze.

The dark shape was there, covered in the traditionally large blue tarp. He stood, silhouetted in the haze of setting sun and dust. In faded jeans and a white t-shirt he looked like warrior come home again. But he didn’t know that. Didn’t see the person that had paused in the shadows on the side of the building. Didn’t hear the soft curse or know the person moved away quietly even as they reached for their phone.

All Dean could do was try and breathe. The dust began to settle and he tried to even out his breathing and nerves. Slowly, so slowly, he stepped forward, reaching with a shaking hand toward the tarp to pull it off with a muffled whimper.

She sat there in her dark glory, a golden halo of the setting sun glowing over her flanks. He let out a deep breath and stepped forward. He cleared his throat as he stepped deeper into the shed, hand reaching out.

“Hey Baby,” he spoke lowly, his hand coming out to drag lightly along the edge of her hood. His eyes closed briefly and he felt himself falling, falling into memory, into comfort, into something called home. He had Mabel to thank for that and he smiled in memory as his feet took him ‘round the Impala. 

Her hood was face forward so it was a slow journey around her passenger side, along the trunk, up the driver’s side to end up at the corner opposite where he started. Very little dust graced his fingers and he knew he had Bobby to thank for that. He could see a bit of age on her, nothing that a bit of time, care and waxing wouldn’t fix. 

A chuckle escaped him. “Baby, wish you had been with me on this whole long ride. Nah. You were better off here. I thought Sammy would have taken you, but he didn’t.” He patted the hood. “Kinda glad he didn’t. I’m not ready to take you for a ride yet. I wish I was since there’s someone I’d like to have in the passenger seat.” His head ducked on a chuckle. “I’ll be coming for you soon, Baby. Soon. You just gotta let me heal a little more.”

Dean pulled the shed doors closed with a lighter heart than he had opened them. Baby was still there. Saul’s Pinto waited for him at the front and he had Cas in his bed. Rather, he was in Cas’s bed. His insides lit up and laughed at that realization. 

Baby was still here. He was here now. Everything else would fall into place.


	18. Chapter 18

Dean took the back stairs, a bit drained from his shift at the shop. It wasn’t that he wanted to avoid Ellen, or Cas, or Jo—well, maybe Jo—but he really just wanted some downtime. He wanted to let the hot water rush over him as he scrubbed the grease and dirt from his nails and let his mind drift. 

Steam pulsed out behind him as he stepped naked from the bathroom into his bedroom. He had gathered his dirty clothes in his arms and tossed them toward the hamper. With a quick thought, he reached for the jeans and pulled the magazine from the pocket. 

A sigh racked his body as he set it on top of the chest of drawers and set his forearms widely on either side. He bit his bottom lip as he contemplated the metal and gunpowder before him. Coming home to Kansas had given him both peace and anxiety. Some of that had been overcome so he had shed a few bullets. He knew he wasn’t really to completely release the magazine, but he contemplated chucking two of the bullets into the pile in the top drawer. 

His magazine held thirteen and he wasn’t sure how many he had already removed and he didn’t want to try and count either way. That made it too real, that much closer to a choice he had to make. So he rested his forehead on the top of the dresser for a bit and simply tried to breathe, to relax. 

He knew Cas was on the bar tonight but he was only backup relief. After pulling on well faded, low hanging dark blue sweats, he grabbed a beer, popped the top and plopped onto the couch with the remote. 

Flipping through the channels he found a Dr. Sexy marathon and smiled as he set the remote on the coffee table, snuggled down into the couch, and crossed his ankles. He rested his beer on his stomach, and let the sound of his favorite show lull him into a doze.

***  
Cas climbed the steps tiredly. He had been working at The Roadhouse for years and he never remembered this kind of deep tiredness in his bones. As he tossed his keys on the small table, he smiled ruefully. He had never met anyone like Dean Winchester before either and he was certain that what he felt –and that Ellen and Jo tried to hide—was caused by the elder Winchester returning from the wild. 

With a groan, he slipped his shoes off and nudged them under the entry table. It wasn’t something he did often, but he knew he had to work tomorrow and would come searching for them quickly enough that leaving them there didn’t bother him. 

As he walked deeper into the apartment he stretched his neck and his arms and shoulders behind him with practiced movements. He was groaning into the crack and stretch of his upper body when he paused in the living room. Dean was sleeping on the couch, his head turned toward Cas, left hand resting provocatively on his belly. Cas knew it wasn’t meant to be provocative but it still called to him in that way.

He eased into the living room, his socks quiet on the hardwood floor. Dean had left the blinds as they were, which meant a darkly filtered moonlight shone on him across his top half, the rest in shadow, but his face was played upon by the odd colors of the tv screen. It was mesmerizing to him and he stilled, his body reacting to the freckled Adonis spread out on his couch for the taking. 

Cas let his lips curve in a lustful smile. He pulled his own shirts over his head and off, dropping them to the floor without thought. The button fly of his jeans popped easily and he slid them off, now as naked as Dean, clad only in his dark boxer briefs. 

This wasn’t about sex. Not that he was opposed to that in any way. He wanted to cuddle next to Dean, to wrap himself in that sleep warmed heat and sink into a boneless slumber. 

Dean mumbled as he felt someone slide next to him. He shifted slightly, both away and closer and a deep rumble of laughter rolled through the other body. Licking his lips, he tried to open his eyes but kept wanting to sink into the offered heat. 

“Cas?”

“Yeah, babe. Relax.” Cas brushed a kiss on his temple. 

“Bar closed?”

“Hmm. Close enough.” Cas tightened his arm around Dean’s waist even though the couch was not the most comfortable place for them. “Sleep. Gotcha.”

“Yeah. Gotcha too.”

Cas grinned at the slurred sentiment and let himself sink into the heat of Dean against his chest, letting the show on the tv lure him into a quiet relaxation.

***  
Dean growled as a loud knock came on the door. And then again. He shifted and spooned closer to Cas, vaguely registering that sometime after Cas came in from his shift they stumbled from the couch to the bed. Cas grumbled, flipped over, and burrowed deeper into the covers. 

With a sigh, Dean kicked his legs out from the covers, glancing at the clock with a quiet curse. It was after two AM. Cas got in just before midnight so they really hadn’t had much sleep. 

The banging knock came again even as Dean stumbled out of the bedroom.  
“Hold your damn horses,” he snarled as he moved to the front door. 

Dean wrenched the door open, his shoulder propped in such a way to block the intruder, his face set in a scowl meant to back it up. “What?”

“Dean?”

The voice was soft enough, hesitant enough, for Dean to stand up and blink into the dim light of the hallway. 

Dean blinked past the aggravation and sleep since the voice seemed familiar. He squinted even as his hand clenched on the door frame. Cas was sleeping beyond and he had to consider that. 

“Sammy?” His green eyes blinked away the sleepy fuzz as he stood up straighter. 

He found his younger brother framed in the low yellowish light of their outside bulb. He was dressed in a dark suit, either charcoal or some blend, and Dean wasn’t sure given his punchy tiredness and the low light. 

“Man, why are you here?” Dean challenged in a tired voice, his body wanting to slump on the doorframe and get back to curl around Cas.

“Dean,” the voice was coarse and bitter. “Can’t you even let me in?”

He shifted his body around the doorframe, silently apologizing to Cas. He locked the deadbolt in an automated fashion. Lawrence was home, didn’t mean it was safe or easy. 

Dean leaned a hip on the nicely rounded couch arm and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you here, Sammy?”

“I heard you were in town.”

“Bobby or Ellen?” Dean demanded. 

Sam shook his head in response. He used a deep breath to bring his concerns in closer. Sam was used to dominating a room but the man that Dean was, that he looked up to for so long, was not what he encountered so he pulled back a bit to gauge the situation.

Dean was aware of crossing bare arms over his chest, the eerie moonlight filtering among the slanted blinds as he watched his younger brother, snappily clad in a suit and tie, stand firm inside his door. He remained impassive for a bit, disguised as blinking awake, before he move to put the kitchen counter between them.

“Beer or rocks,” Dean offered his brother, burying his face in the cool mist of the refrigerator. 

He heard his brother sigh and move closer, and he kept his hand as easy on the side of the fridge as he could. He wanted to kick Sam out, wanted to have Cas curl around him, and yet he knew he was both hopeful and stupid.

“Dean, I –“

“Beer or rocks, Sammy.”

Dean sensed the tall, lean body of his brother sag as he sat down on a bar stool. It wasn’t an easy capitulation but Dean felt moderately in charge so he pulled a few heavy alcohol beers from the back of the fridge, and accepted the kitchen bar that Sam put between them. God knew he was tired and strung out and not willing to stretch any father. 

Knowing he had left a warm bed with a warm and welcoming body made him grumpy enough. But he could see the confusion and questions in his younger brother’s eyes. So he drank deep of the first, cold bottled beer and settled in for the interrogation.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Sammy. He did. Not at two AM, and not when he was tired and restless from his talk with Mabel and reconnecting with his Baby. Then again, it had been years since he wasn’t truly on some kind of edge so he shrugged at himself. 

“Look, Sammy, I came back. Yeah, I didn’t announce it; I didn’t call. But I came back.”

Dean watched his younger brother throw out a classic bitchface and he hid his own grin behind his beer bottle.

“Dean, I tried to find you. I looked for you everywhere.”

He shrugged. “Never left a trace. Walked off base and went cash only. Hard to trace that.”

Sam nodded and picked at the label on his beer bottle. “Was it really necessary to disconnect like that?”

“Yeah. Yeah it was. You don’t know what it was like. No one does.”

“We all know war is hell---“

“No, Sam!” he snapped, standing straight, eyes blazing. “People think they know. They think they can imagine. I am guaranteeing you a thousand percent that they—and you—can’t.”

“Dean?” A sleepy voice from the back bedroom caught both Winchesters off guard. Cas stood in the doorway, clad only in his boxer briefs, rubbing his eyes. “Everything ok out here?” He lowered his hand and blinked sleepily. “Oh, hey, Sam.” Those too blue eyes closed a bit long on a blink but he shook himself back to the present. “So are you going to talk awhile or will you be coming to bed soon?”

Dean was moving before he thought of it, beer set on the counter. His lips found Cas’s forehead as his hand found his hip in a subtle caress. “We might be awhile. You might want to shut the door when you go back to bed.”

Cas hummed and stretched into Dean’s embrace. “’K. There is a wedge of brie in the fridge and some good crackers in the pantry. ‘Night, Sam.”

The younger Winchester looked on in disbelief as Cas gave a halfhearted wave and closed the door to the bedroom. He watched, equally baffled, at the soft expression that spread over his brother’s face as he turned from the bedroom to dig in the fridge for the cheese and then grabbed a plate from the cabinet. 

Dean found the cheese and a plate, and then grabbed the crackers from the pantry. He was still focused on the sleepy look on Cas’s face, the way his body smelled warm and inviting. Once he finished setting the plate up, he turned and froze. Sam was looking at him with bewilderment. He suddenly felt lost in the kitchen, beer in one hand, plate of cheese and crackers in the other. 

“What?”

“Are you sleeping with Cas?” Sam demanded, frown between his eyes evident. 

That chapped his ass so he headed toward the living room with his beer and plate. Sam could be as judgmental as he wanted but Dean wasn’t going to take it easily. “So?” He flicked the tv on with the remote, flipping through channels to appease his irritation.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out before he moved away from the kitchen bar. He shrugged off his suit coat and loosened the tie. Dean could always put him on edge with little provocation and he needed to remember that. He needed to remember that they easily did that to each other. Before he could move too far, he grabbed two more beers from the fridge. 

Dean tried not to bristle as Sam sat on the couch opposite him, separating them with the coffee table. He had no idea why Cas had set it up this way, formal and a bit stiff, but right now he was glad for it. Acknowledging all his feelings, he was proud of Sammy for grabbing the beers as an offering of peace.

“I’m not going to ask you to talk about it, Dean,” Sam began, opening the new beers. “But I do expect you to explain why you have been gone for so long.”

The laughter bubbled up in him and he had to set his beer down as tears came to his eyes. Dean was able to look at his brother with a calm gaze through the laughter. “You wouldn’t ask that if you had been there. No, Sammy,” he cut his brother off when he saw he wanted to speak. “An explanation requires me to talk about it. It was hard, it was rough and people died. You want more, you ask Ash.”

Sam bit his lip. “Ash looked and he won’t talk.”

The older Winchester let out a ragged cough that let his heartbeat shift closer to normal. “Well then he found what he needed to find. If Ash won’t talk, what does that tell you?” he responded in a bitter tone. 

“Ash isn’t my brother, Dean. He didn’t disappear for over five years. You can’t expect me to pretend nothing happened.”

With hands that didn’t shake, Dean smeared the softening brie on several crackers. He appreciated that Cas offered him a reason to occupy his hands. The first coated cracker went down with the tang of brie and sea salt. He really liked it. 

“Actually, I can.” Dean sat up tall, feeling the tingle in his bones. “You have never been in combat. I can’t explain that. No soldier in any branch of the military can.” He shrugged again and popped another coated cracker into his mouth. “I know you don’t like it, you won’t ever. But I can’t break down my experience into quantifiable words and deeds.” His laugh was bitter. “Wish I could, Sammy. Maybe I wouldn’t be so haunted. But I can’t. So I ask that you don’t.”

Sam hated the words, hated the weight behind them, hated the sense of his brother that seemed to breathe something was broken and irreparable. As a lawyer, he knew how to wait. So he blithely nodded, watching his brother’s shoulders relax slightly. Beyond that he knew Cas, had known him for years, and he could see catching him at the bar with Dean not around. 

Dean watched his brother rise, hackles still on edge, but he stood and took the offered hand. 

“Ok, Dean. You’re home, and you don’t want to talk. Good enough. Most importantly, you’re home.” His smile was genuine but also reserved. “We should have burgers and beer soon.”

“On Ellen,” Dean joked, half serious. 

Sam chucked. “Still the best burgers in town. I’ll call.”

Dean smiled and saw Sam out, his relaxed posture and set face sliding away once the door was locked. He had missed his brother fiercely. But Sam was a bleeding heart, a softie. Though he chose prosecution, Dean gave it less than three years before Sam swapped. 

As he rinsed the beer bottles and minor dishes, he tried to clear his head. He didn’t want to climb into bed with Cas having his mind swirl around his military time and Sam. From experience he knew that meant nightmares and he didn’t want that tonight. Tonight he wanted to feel Cas snuggled up to him, face buried in Dean’ shoulder, his lean body pliant and warm. 

His own warm smile and thoughts carried him through cleaning up the kitchen to quietly entering the bedroom. A quick and quiet trip to brush his teeth and go to the bathroom had him sliding into the half cool sheets on one side of the bed.

Cas registered the slightly cool air, the body sliding against him, and the quietly released sigh of content. He focused on the warmth, his own body squirming to find the source of the new heat and relished in the groan he felt against his shoulder blades in response. He let his body go lax, indicating the need for closeness and not sex. 

Dean felt the relaxation, the yielding of his other half. Yes, his. He was willing for Castiel to publicly claim him and wanted to do the same in response. He could sense Cas on his skin, wanted to roll in the scent between them. Somehow he sensed that Cas would understand his odd take on their relationship. That thought caused him to smile softly and slip into sleep.


	19. Chapter 19

Dean was buried under the hood of some clunker car, humming along with Black Sabbath as he tinkered and tightened bolts and belts. Finishing this car officially put him ahead for the day. Maybe he could convince Bobby to let him go home early. For once, both he and Cas had the whole night off. It would be nice to lock the door, order a pizza and watch movies all night long. Even pilfer a few pieces of pie from Ellen.

Maybe Cas would let him marathon the two new Star Trek movies again. Then he’d let Cas choose one of his own to watch and they could snuggle on the couch and fall asleep. Dean would flat refuse to admit that they snuggled on the couch but he liked how octopus-like Cas could get in his sleep.

“Dean!” Came the shout from inside. “Got a visitor.”

He ran his forearm over his forehead and grinned before wiping his hands on a faded shop towel. A quick look at the clock told him it was a bit after noon and he assumed it was Cas bringing him lunch. Maybe Cas was looking forward to the night off together and wanted to tease Dean with where the night might go.

The easy flirtatious greeting on his tongue died when he saw Sam standing there with two takeout boxes from the Roadhouse. He licked his lips to try and buy himself some time on what to say. “Uh…hey, Sammy.”

The younger Winchester held up the take out cartons in offering, seeming as stiff as Dean. “We talked burgers. I thought we could have that lunch.”

Dean nodded and continued to wipe his hands on the towel for lack of anything better to do. He darted his gaze to the side and found Charlie watching them under her bangs, not even trying to hide her interest. 

“Dude,” he shot at her with a half grimace. 

Charlie shrugged and continued to look between the two of them. “What? I’m here. You’re here. I’m not going to pretend not to be here.”

Sam huffed a chuckle and Dean shook his head to hide his grin. His shot amused eyes at Sam. “No better than Jo, eh?”

“Yeah,” came the almost amused reply. “I’ll head into the break room, yeah. You wash up.”

Dean watched Sam head off and then glanced at Charlie. She quirked a brow and he held up his fist for a bump. In the last couple of weeks he had really gotten to know Charlie and saw why Bobby hired her. She was an ace with computers, and though she knew little about cars, she used that to her advantage to put customers at ease. 

Bobby let him know that since she had started – about two years – they had steadily seen an uptick in business. Cars were typically a man’s domain. Dean wasn’t stupid or sexist as he had ran into many awesome female mechanics in the military and since, but he also knew that society wasn’t quite there yet. With Charlie at the helm, interpreting the confusing jargon and explaining the bill in simple terms, word of mouth spread quickly. 

They now had many female clients, student clients, and older clients that were concerned with being fleeced by fancy, name-brand shops. They had carved out a niche in Lawrence and slightly beyond. Lawrence wasn’t huge but it was self-sustaining for the most part yet they had attracted customers from the more rural areas that came to Lawrence one a month, or once every few months, to stock up on their staples. They would now swing by the shop to drop their cars off for a tune up and oil change before shopping. Bobby started keeping a few loaner vehicles and a small van for use when groups came. 

It was lucrative. And Charlie was smart, just not car savvy. She reminded him of Sam in that way. Give them books, some random topic, and a computer and they were good. Give them some hands-on greasy project and they were totally lost. But Dean didn’t mind that. He liked his work. Always knew he was blue collar and didn’t find any shame in that. 

“Sam means well, Dean,” Charlie offered, biting her lower lip. “He’s your brother and he really cares. Just give him a chance.”

Dean blinked at the redhead he was used to seeing in spitfire mode. Her eyes were softer and her tone a bit uncertain. It made him aware that she was serious. 

“I know,” he responded, flexing the fingers of his right hand. “He’s also studious, temperamental and prone to having his say.”

“Hmm.” She crossed her arms over her chest with a dry smirk. “Not a Winchester at all then?”

Dean cursed under his breath. She was right. He raised his bold green eyes to hers. “Fine. I hear you. But I was the one that was barged in on in the middle of the night. Would you have been happy?”

“No,” she admitted, leaning her forearms on the desk to put them a bit closer together. “But I’m an only child. I can’t imagine what it was like to hear my brother was back from the abyss after more than five years.” She shrugged. “I give him the benefit of the doubt on the impulse to see you.”

She watched as Dean slightly rolled his shoulders and his lips purse before settling into a grim line. She has to admit, were she not a lesbian, she would find Dean Winchester a hot specimen. Luckily, in her eyes, she was a lesbian, and could see him beneath his shell, which she suspected many did not. Though only knowing him for a short time, she saw the soldier in him, saw the reserved streak and the reflexes that pushed him forward. She also saw that Cas was good for him. 

“Dean?” she called softly as he walked to the break room door. She swallowed hard. “Don’t touch whatever is in your right front pants pocket. I’m not…” she trailed off, her eyes focused on the desk in front of her. 

“Charlie.” Her eyes rose without her wish to meet his. She found them level with just a hint of fear. “Spill.”

She liked that about Dean, that he was straightforward and to the point. Her lips pursed in relief but she pushed it down. “I don’t know what’s in your pocket but I know you touch it a lot. More when you first came here, and a lot less now but, well, I get the feeling when you are anxious you touch it more and Sam will notice.”

Dean had bristled a bit when he first realized she was able to read him but he was not ungrateful. He could better deal with Charlie seeing it and not commenting on it for weeks than to reveal the weakness once in front of Sam and be grilled for it. 

He laid a hand on her shoulder, able to comfortably meet her questioning eyes. “Thanks.” His voice was still hoarse with emotion. “Cas doesn’t say anything but I think he sees it too. I can deal with you seeing it. Sam-“ his eyes flicked up and back, “-not so much. So, yeah, thanks.”

Charlie was as reserved as he was in some ways so he briefly felt her hand touch his before she was turning to answer the phone in her cheerfully pleasant voice. That made him want to laugh in relief so he entered the break room in a decent mood, lips half curved in a smile. 

Sam was sitting at a table, both take out boxes open, napkins and useless utensils next to the cartons, cool glasses of water sweating. He sat with a half sigh, trying not to laugh, trying to appreciate the gesture.

“Thanks, Sam,” he finally offered. 

“We needed to talk, Dean.”

Dean ran a hand over his mouth and frowned at Sam. “Man, this is lunch. I want to enjoy this burger. Maybe have you tell me about the crazy cases you have worked the last couple years and then get back to sweating under a hood to the beat of some Led Zep.”

Sam’s features remained remote and distant for a bit and then finally softened. He reached for a napkin, to put it on his lap, and Dean realized he was dressed less formally in khakis and a polo. He wondered if this was Sam’s attempt to make him more comfortable or if it was a casual day at the office. 

“Ellen said you liked bacon so she put on a bit extra,” Sam offered.

Dean chuckled, trying to help the conversation. “Awesome. Bacon may kill me some day, but what a way to go.” He bit into his burger with gusto, eyes happy on his brother as he did so. He saw Sam’s shoulders relax just a bit and that helped him relax. Helped him not reach for his front right pocket as Charlie warned him not to do. Dean’s hand twitched to do just that but he covered it by using that hand to grab a napkin and wipe his mouth. 

“Look, Sammy, this isn’t going to be easy, you and me,” Dean offered. He gave a shrug at the wide eyed look from his baby brother. “It’s me and I know it. I can’t apologize for it. So yeah. I’m here, I’m back and I’m not the same as when I left.”

He watched as Sam used the weird spork to play with his salad, moving the big leaves around –Dean assumed they were spinach—and generally buying time with the motions. He didn’t begrudge that of his brother; he knew he was a messed up fool, a hard-ass Marine and left the gauntlet on the table. 

Sam licked his lips and glanced up, leaving the spork speared in the salad. “You sent money home.”

Dean blinked, uncertain of the tone or what Sam was accusing him of. And yes, the tone was vaguely accusing. “Yeah,” he drawled out, taking a long sip of the water. 

“You didn’t make much to begin with,” Sam continued. 

He pursed his lips and nodded slightly. “Yeah.”

“Damn it, Dean,” Sam burst out, shuffling in his seat, his whole body tense and uncertain. “Dean, Dad was dead and you left. You went into the military. You left.”

The heat in his younger brother’s words rolled over him and he acknowledged them. Welcomed them even. He wiped his hands on a napkin and sat back in the plastic break room chair. 

“Yeah, Sammy, I left. I made a choice based on facts and needs. And I left.” Dean’s eyes hooded slightly as he explained the world to his younger brother.

“You didn’t have to leave!”

“Really?” Dean’s drawl was slow to match the hooding of his eyes. “You think Bobby coulda sent you to Stanford otherwise? Where did you think the money came from?”

He watched as Sam paled a little, licked his lips and flicked his eyes from the table to Dean and back again. He watched him swallow hard. “Dean? Man, you didn’t…”

“Yeah, little brother, I did,” he answered. “And I don’t regret it.” He gave a shrug at the sharp look aimed his way. “I knew you would get some kind of scholarships and stuff. Plus, Dad asked me to take care of you. Told him I would. So I did.” To close the topic off, Dean leaned forward to take his burger in hand again. 

Sam huffed out a sigh. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean chewed his burger. “They let you lawyers have hair that long? You look like a hippie.”

The younger Winchester closed his eyes but the chuckle still bubbled out of him. With a wry grin, he grabbed his spork and stabbed some salad. “Hair length isn’t a requirement like it is in the military.”

“Maybe not Samantha, but be careful you don’t start having a period.”

“Har har, Dean.”

The brothers managed to talk about lighter topics relating to family and friends, funny or weird cases Sam had worked and general goings on around Lawrence. When Sam left the ice between them was broken even if it was full of slippery spots. Dean wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon so they had time to go slow and rebuild their relationship as brothers.

***  
When Dean entered the apartment he found it full of the scent of peppers and spices. A soft smile lit his face realizing that Cas had been home a bit and dinner was being prepared. The dark headed man was stirring something on the stove and Dean came up behind him to nuzzle at his neck.

“Smells good, Cas.”

He shrugged. “Thought it would be nice to have a simple but home cooked meal. It smells good, but you know me, it might not be wholly edible.”

“I agree.” Dean eyed the counter and one brow rose in surprise. “Wine?”

A bottle of red wine sat opened and breathing on the counter with two glasses next to it, waiting to be filled. Cas grinned and wiped his hand on a small towel after he turned down the burner.

“Beer is great but I thought wine sounded better for a relaxing night in.”

“I think you’re trying to seduce me,” Dean teased. 

Cas quirked an eyebrow. “You’re pretty easy, Dean. I think I could get the same response with beer and a pizza. Maybe even a better one.”

Snickering, Dean headed toward the shower. “You know me, Cas. I like what I like.”

Dean relished the hot water that pounded onto his shoulders and back. He washed quickly, not wanting to miss the evening with Cas. In the past Dean had been much more of a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy, but it was different with Cas. He wasn’t sure exactly why but they had slid into each other like well-oiled pistons. They had disagreements and irritated each other from time to time, but that was normal in any relationship. 

He stared at himself in the mirror. Was he really considering himself to be in a relationship with Cas? Sure, they slept in the same bed, had great sex, snuggled on the couch and shared groceries and laundry duties. Hmm. He briskly dried his hair and decided not to think about it.

After a short debate, he threw on a pair of faded, well-worn in sweatpants and a faded AC/DC t-shirt. He found Cas dishing out the last of the food onto their plates. The wine bottle and glasses had made their way to the coffee table, a bit of wine poured into each glass. Cas turned with a plate in each hand and grinned at him. 

“Good timing. Let’s eat. I wasn’t sure if you wanted Die Hard or Star Trek.”

Dean felt his heart flutter just a bit. Dressed in a faded Metallica shirt that he was sure actually belonged to him, and a pair of raggedy navy sweats that had been cut off into shorts, Dean considered that Cas did seem to know him pretty well. “I was thinking the two new Star Trek movies.”

“Fine by me.” Cas set the plates down on the coffee table and took a sip of the wine. “I know you aren’t a huge wine fan, but I think you’ll like this. A little full bodied with a soft finish. Should complement the peppers and spices with the chicken.”

Dean dropped a kiss on the top of Cas’s head as he came to sit beside him on the couch and started the DVD. The men found themselves tucked in close to each other as they began to eat, both watching the movie.

“This is really good, Cas. Thanks for cooking.”

“I was glad to. Ash has been giving me tips and letting me experiment a bit when we’re slow. I think I finally have chicken down,” Cas responded. 

They settled in to eat and watch the movie. Cas was done first and set his plate on the coffee table, topped off both their wine glasses and curled back into the couch. When Dean finished his meal with a sigh, he took a deep drink of the wine and found that Cas had found a wine that he could and would drink again. 

As he settled back into the couch, he found Cas moving closer to his side, snuggling in, though most of his attention was still on the movie. Dean slung an arm to the back of the couch, allowing the other man to scoot a bit closer. He was feeling warm with the food and the wine, and relaxed knowing that neither of them had anything to do for the rest of the night. 

It wasn’t that Dean was opposed to work; God knows he had done enough of that from an early age. But it was nice to sit back and relax, to not feel like he had to keep going all night, keep pushing his body to the limit just so that he could eat, or at his worst, stay alive.

Dean was comfortable on the couch, sipping his wine and watching the action in the movie when he felt nibbling on his neck. He hummed and shifted his head to give Cas better access. The other man rose to his knees, grabbed both wine glasses and set them on the table before lithely straddling Dean. 

His grin was a little wolfish as he let his hands settle on Cas’s hipbones and massage gently. “Something on your mind, Cas?”

The response came in the form of a harder nip just above his collarbone. Cas continued to nip and lick at his neck, even paying brief attention to his earlobe. Dean allowed his head to fall back against the couch and closed his eyes, sinking into the hum of pleasure that was starting to creep through his body. 

Cas had allowed the hunger to build within him all day. He had been looking forward to an evening like this where he and Dean had nothing to do but be with each other. Those days were going to be rare and, though he had hoped to wait a little longer into the evening, he was inflamed with need to taste and touch the other man as quickly as possible.

Their mouths fused together in heat and want. Cas ripped Dean’s shirt from his body, tossing it somewhere onto the floor. His mouth began to travel down Dean’s chest, stopping to lick and bite his nipples, fingers tracing down his sides to the waistband of his sweatpants. 

Dean grinned when Cas looked up at him, eyes dark with lust. He was kneeling between his legs and had just discovered that Dean was sans underwear.

Cas smirked back as he tugged the sweatpants over Dean’s hips and off. “Looks like someone else had something on their mind as well.”

His body arched as Cas began to kiss his thighs. “You know me, always wanting to be prepared for anything.”

Eyes closing at the sensations caused by Cas’s lips and tongue, he felt Cas lick up his shaft and couldn’t hold back a groan. Using the saliva left behind, Cas began to stroke the shaft with one hand, his tongue traveling down to Dean’s testicles and beyond.

Dean groaned again, widening his legs and putting one up onto the couch next to him for better leverage. Cas’s tongue began to tease at his hole, soft gentle licks that had his hips canting up for more. His cock felt so hard and he wanted to throw Cas to the floor and take him hard and fast, but he also wanted to stay put and let the slow burn build up within him.

His eyes flew open and looked down at Cas when he felt a slick fingertip pressed against his hole. He tried not to tense but his mouth went a little dry and he rested a hand on Cas’s head. “Uh...Cas, I don’t think--”

Cas’s blue eyes speared him when those confused green orbs glanced down. That slick finger still gently rubbing against his hole, adding a slight pressure as their eyes held. “That’s right, Dean,” Cas’s voice growled low. “Don’t think. Clutch the back of the couch.”

Dean swallowed at the subtle command, a spike of pleasure running through him as he moved to obey. He brought his hands over his head and was just at the right amount of slouch for him to clutch easily at the cushion there. Their eyes held as Cas slid that finger in him up to the first knuckle. It didn’t hurt but he also wasn’t sure if it felt good. 

“Relax for me, Dean,” came the soft command as Cas leaned down to run his tongue over the head of his cock. “Let me pleasure you.”

Dean let his head fall back against the couch again and focused on Cas’s mouth on his cock. It had been a long time since he had been on the receiving end of things though he remembered the pleasure it could bring. He still fingered himself on occasion when masturbating so it wasn’t that aspect that really bothered him. It was the vulnerability factor. He had not allowed himself to be that vulnerable, that open, to anyone in a very long time. But this was Cas, he could trust Cas, he could let him in and he knew he could say stop at any time. 

With that reminder his body seemed to go lax, sinking into the couch and into Cas. He realized that Cas’s finger was fully inside of him, moving slowly and gently. As if the other man sensed his body’s acquiescence, he moved that first finger a little faster while teasing the edge of his rim with the next. 

He felt Cas push his knees wider apart as he began to slip in the second finger. At the same time Cas began to take more of his cock into his mouth, using his other hand to stroke the shaft on the upstroke. Dean found his body craving the fullness and slide of the fingers in his ass. He forgot how good it could feel.

“More, Cas,” he moaned, pushing his hips onto Cas’s fingers. 

Cas nibbled the crease of Dean’s thigh as he looked up at him. “You sure you want more?” His tone was low and teasing. 

Dean whimpered as those fingers increased their pace, slipping in and out of him with ease. “Christ, Cas,” he growled. “You look like a debauched angel.” Cas’s dark hair was tousled and sex mussed, his eyes like dark sapphires that had a flame in the center.

The dark headed man only licked his way back to Dean’s cock and swallowed him all the way down as he eased in a third finger. 

Dean felt the burn with the addition of the third finger but Cas was going slow and it felt damn good. His hands gripped the back of the couch as he tried not to thrust up into that warm, wet mouth. The slick sounds of Cas sucking him were only enhanced when he hummed.

“Fuck!” Dean’s body lit up like a light as Cas twisted his fingers just right and hit his prostate. Those fingers brushed over it again and the slow burn in his belly began to flame hotter and faster. 

Cas held Dean’s hips down with one hand, even has he continued to move those three fingers in and out of him at just the right angle. His mouth and tongue continued to swallow him down. It was that slight bit of dominance from Cas, that hand holding him in place, that was going to push him over the edge. 

“Cas….Cas!” he cried hoarsely as his body writhed and spasmed with his release, Cas’s mouth never releasing him and his fingers pressed tight to Dean’s prostrate to squeeze every last drop of pleasure from him. 

Dean felt boneless on the couch, his breath coming in heaving gasps. Light headed and out of breath, he wasn’t sure he had ever come that hard in his entire life. His entire body still trembled with little aftershocks. 

Dean’s eyes flew open as his hips were pulled down the couch slightly. Cas was now naked in front of him, stroking his own cock with a bit of lube. He bit his lip as the tip of that cock was pressed against his sensitive hole and Cas leaned over him. 

He let out a slight whimper as the head of Cas’s cock breached him. Cas was thick and oh so hot. Soft lips began to nibble at his neck and Dean let one of his hands drift down to run through Cas’s hair. 

Cas felt Dean’s body open up to him as he rocked and pressed slowly forward. He wanted to pound into him, to bite him and mark his claim. Part of him knew how much it took for Dean to let him be in control like this so he restrained himself as much as possible. 

Dean hid his grin at the restrained tremble that slid through the other man’s body. The muscles in Cas’s arms stood out starkly as he held himself above Dean, held himself back. Biting his lip, Dean slid his hand up and tweaked one of Cas’s nipples. He was rewarded with a dark glare and a quick snap of the other man’s hips.

Though he did it to entice Cas, the head of Cas’s cock slid over his prostrate and he found himself moaning and twitching at the sensation. The burn that had accompanied Cas’s entrance was long gone, now replaced by ripples of pleasure that had his cock twitching between them. 

He watched as Cas smirked at his response, and hooked an arm underneath one of his knees to spread him even wider and cause his hips to cant up just a bit more. The angle had Cas sinking in even deeper, now rubbing over Dean’s prostate with every thrust. 

“That’s it, Dean,” Cas encouraged, his free hand coming to stroke Dean’s cock as it began to harden. “I think you want to come on my cock, feel me fill your ass up.”

Dean groaned again, clutching at the couch beneath him, the sensitive sensations making him twitch. The way he was partly held down, he had no control of the speed at which they fucked and found that Cas wanted to fuck him hard and fast. His body seemed to like that, forcing him to whimper and grit his teeth against the pleasure that was just this side of painful on his sensitive tissues. 

As if he could sense Dean’s discomfort Cas slowed down a bit, letting him relax again, letting him come to full hardness in his hand. He should have found it a little dirty that Cas was using his own come to stroke him off, but he found it really didn’t matter. It felt good and Cas knew just how to flick his thumb over and around the head. 

Cas leaned forward a bit more now, picking up the pace again, going deep with each thrust. “Dean, you’re going to come again, spill over my hand as I fuck you. Then I’m going to come deep in your ass while you squeeze me tight.” Cas leaned down to nip at his collarbone, pulling Dean’s knee a hair wider and speeding up his hand. 

Dean reached up to pull Cas’s mouth against his and when Cas thrust his tongue inside his mouth, his orgasm ripped through him. He arched and squirmed against Cas, knowing he was making all sorts of noise and not able to care. He felt Cas growl and shove deep one last time, his cock pulsing as he let loose into Dean’s body, his hips making tiny little circles to drag out his orgasm.

They were a sticky, sweaty mess that neither of them seemed to mind as Cas slid out of him with a whimper, falling to his knees on the floor and resting his head against Dean’s thigh. 

It took two attempts to clear his throat. “I’d say you set the stage for seduction well, Cas.”

He felt the chuckle run up and down his leg and then Cas was kneeling in front of him again, raising up to press a kiss to his lips. “I think we need a shower.”

“Mmm. Don’t wanna move,” Dean protested, closing his eyes.

Standing and stretching Cas hummed, feeling those green eyes run along his body even after the rigorous sex they had just shared. He picked up his wine glass and took a healthy sip. “Too bad. If you don’t clean up, I can’t give you dessert.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed to half glare at Cas. “Are we talking pie?”

Cas shrugged. “Don’t know unless you clean up.”

“Why do I have to clean up?” he whined. 

“I cook, you clean. House rules. Plus, I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you if you’re all sticky and crusty.”

Dean grumbled but got to his feet and grabbed their plates to take to the kitchen. “Partly your fault I’m all sticky and messy.”

Cas laughed. “Quite right. If you hurry up I can wash your back.”

Dean rinsed the dishes and set them in the dishwasher. He heard the shower come on and smiled at the thought of joining Cas under the warm spray. Not for anything sexual, but because it was warm and comfortable. He was also a sucker for the way Cas’s blue eyes looked when framed by wet, spiky lashes. 

After the shower they curled back together on the couch to finish off the bottle of wine and eat the blueberry peach pie that Cas had picked up at a local bakery. Sated with sex, food and good company, Dean allowed himself to admit that coming home, finally coming home, had turned out better than he expected.


	20. Chapter 20

The next several weeks fell into a comfortable pattern for Dean. He and Cas ran several mornings a week, he went off to Bobby’s during the day and worked The Roadhouse at night. Once a week he and Sammy had lunch together, slowly getting to know each other again, learning the differences and finding the similarities. He even got to meet Sam’s girlfriend, Jess, and found that she fit into the family group pretty well even though she and Sam had only been dating for six months or so.

He still had nightmares though they happened less frequently and less severely. When they came, sometimes they woke Cas and sometimes not. Dean preferred the times that Cas slept on so he could sneak out of a bed and let himself shiver and shake, and sometimes vomit, out the demons. Usually he was able to come back to bed before Cas woke up. On the occasions that he didn’t, he cooked breakfast and though Cas would look at him with his head cocked in consideration, he never actually said anything to him about it. 

Though they never talked about it, he and Cas always shared a bed and most of Dean’s clothes slowly made their way into the master bedroom. Chores were divided up between them and life went smoothly for the most part. 

One fight that he and Cas had leapt into his mind. Usually they just squabbled or irritated each other and spent a little time apart and then things were fine. This time Dean had been up most of the night after a nightmare so he was tired when he went to the shop to work. His shift at the shop had been hot and grueling, filled with grumpy customers. 

That meant he came home sleep deprived, edgy and looking for a fight. Cas was asleep on the couch and the coffee table littered with his sketches and for some reason his ability to nap and focus on his hobbies pissed Dean off as soon as he walked in the door, which he chose to slam. 

Cas sat up quickly on the couch, looking around in annoyance and confusion. The fight escalated from there. They both yelled, stomped around and gestured wildly. After several minutes Cas threw the front door open and went out. 

Dean stopped in mid yell and could only blink. He’d never had someone walk out on a fight like this. 

“Get out here, Dean,” came the angry growl.

Dean clenched his fists and stormed out into the foyer outside their apartment, obscenities on his lips. Instead he stumbled to a stop. Cas was across the room holding out a sledgehammer and glaring at him. 

“What the hell, Cas?” he demanded. 

“Take the sledgehammer, Dean.”

He grit his teeth at the calmly controlled way Cas spoke to him. “Why?” Though part of him was intrigued and he moved across the room toward the other man.

Cas sighed and handed him the tool. He gestured at the wall. 

Dean blinked. “You want me to hit the wall?”

“Not just hit it, take it down. It has to come down anyway.”

Dean looked between Cas and the wall. As he was studying the wall, trying to figure out if this was some trick, Cas walked away. Again. He went back into the apartment. And that angered Dean again. So he swung at the wall. And again. And he kept going. 

Dean didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally let the head of the sledgehammer rest on the ground. He was breathing hard, his shoulder muscles burning but he felt better. Still bone tired, he realized that his anger was a byproduct of lack of sleep and residual fear from the nightmare. Now his anger was gone and the wall was mostly torn down. 

“Feel better?”

He turned to find Cas leaning against the wall outside their apartment door, two beers dangling from his hand. Letting the sledgehammer fall to the floor he walked toward the other man, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Thanks, Cas.”

Cas nodded as Dean took the beer from him. “Did a pretty good job on that wall.”

“It did need to come down, right?”

Cas grinned broadly enough that his eyes crinkled. “Yes, Dean, that wall really did need to come down.”

He stepped forward and put a hand on Cas’s arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well and the day at the shop was rough.”

Cas placed his hand over Dean’s. “I know. I knew you weren’t angry at me but needed a target. Eventually we will run out of walls though.”

Dean chuckled and then took their beers and set them on the floor. He crowded the slightly shorter man against the wall and lifted him. Cas wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist with a whimper and slammed their mouths together. He had taken Cas there against the wall, hard and fast, both of them biting and clawing and racing toward the finish. 

He shook himself out of that memory, even though it was a good one, realizing he should focus on manning the bar at The Roadhouse on this Thursday early evening just after six. He had been on since early afternoon and it was a change from the garage. Cas had a previous commitment with Gabriel so he had asked Bobby to let him off early so he found himself pouring beers and catering to a few businessmen and also the college crowd that was done with classes for the day. 

Thursday was a good day for the bar. College students could feel the hum of the weekend in their bones and the business crowd was just as willing to have an extra drink or two before battling Friday.

He was humming to himself as he pulled a pint. His ears vaguely registered the sound of the main doors opening and closing. They had no bell or annoying other sound, but the old doors had a creak to them that the staff could easily recognize and attune to in order to know new patrons had entered. 

As he pulled the second pint he allowed his ears to focus on the sounds of someone coming around the bar. “I’ll be with you in a second,” he tossed over his shoulder without a look as he finished the second pint and moved a few feet away to slide them to the patrons at the corner. 

“Take your time, Sergeant.”

Dean stiffened as he slid the beers to his patrons and knew his smile was fake and rigid. He wiped his hands on the towel at his waist before turning around. Moving the few feet to the bar, he braced his hands on top, eyes cold. 

“I haven’t been a Sergeant in some time.”

“You’re still my Sergeant.”

Dean hung his head down and huffed out a large breath. He wanted to shake and to run but he focused on breathing and keeping his knees steady. The weight of the partially filled magazine sat heavy in his front pocket, which gave him a bit of stability. And he hated that as he had begun to rely less on its presence. When he looked back up, the man was still standing at attention, hat tucked under his arm, eyes steady on him. A cold fissure ran up Dean’s spine but his response was to stand up straighter and cross his arms over his chest. 

“At ease, Corporal,” his command was hostile.

The other man’s stance softened and he took another half step toward the bar but didn’t sit down. His pale eyes looked at Dean with an intensity he disliked. 

“Why are you here?” Dean demanded. 

“I was asked to come and find you.”

“Tell whoever sent you to fuck off.”

“Dean!” The tone was sharp and a bit shrewish as it came from behind him but Dean didn’t pause at Ellen’s voice as he slid the pint across the bar at the soldier. It hadn’t been asked for but he offered it anyway.

“I’m sorry for Dean’s tone.”

“No apology necessary, Ma’am,” came the reply, full of Southern drawl and charm.

Ellen finally stopped and looked from Dean to the man in uniform, still standing a bit stiffly with the pint of beer and its tiny bubbles sitting before him. She hummed and then slid a hip against the far bar counter arms still lax. 

“You got a name, soldier?”

He ducked his closely cropped head. “Benny Lafitte, Ma’am.”

“Pleasure. You take that beer now, you hear? On the house.” Her lips quirked. “Dean may not have manners but I do.”

“I thank you.”

Her shrewd brown eyes noticed that neither man moved an inch. So she stepped forward, a bit between them, her eyes sharp as she pegged them both. “Your business is between the two of you. So you--” she poked a finger at Benny “-will sit down.” She clucked her tongue as both men opened their mouths. “And Dean will come a bit closer and relax the stick in his ass. I’ll be back in less than five minutes with two pieces of pie and if I come back to less than I described, you can both expect to find your asses in a sling.”

Dean sighed as Ellen walked off. He did a quick eye sweep of his other customers and found them all fine so he stepped closer to the bar. “You’d better sit,” he offered. “Ellen doesn’t bluff.”

Benny sat his hat down gently and eased onto a stool. “Sounds like a general,” he muttered. 

“Worse than,” Dean agreed. “She could do with training them.”

The other man pulled the pint of beer closer, watching the bubbles within the glass. “You don’t want me here.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

Dean let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Why would I? I served my time. I did my duty. I earned my scars.”

Benny took a sip of the beer, finding it crisp and perfect for the summer weather. “Your family doesn’t know.”

It wasn’t a question. Dean frowned harder and whipped out his bar towel for lack of anything else to do. The small bar sanitizing dishwasher was by where they were so he took the opportunity to occupy his hands and put the cleaned glasses up. 

“They don’t. And I prefer it that way.”

“But you’re a hero.”

Dean’s eyes shot up cold and angry. He almost crushed a wine glass in his hand. “I got three men killed. I am no hero,” he growled. 

“Dean, it isn’t—“

“Dean?” a soft voice interrupted their discussion. “I was able to get away early. Do you need some help?”

With frantic eyes Dean looked up to see Cas standing just outside of bar range. That meant he was able to run for Ellen or the phone but he could just as easily step forward and relieve Dean of his position for a few moments. 

A thread of calm washed over him as he looked over Cas. The other man was dressed in dark jeans and a navy blue shirt that sported the bar’s logo. It was rare to see Cas dressed in anything but a black or white button down so he allowed one side of his mouth to lift and comfort Cas.

“Can you check on the far tall tables? I’m ok here.”

Cas cocked his head and stared at Dean for a few moments before nodding and moving on. Dean let out a silent breath and wished he could have crushed Cas close to him for a few moments. 

“He must be the one,” Benny murmured. “He’s pretty.”

Dean’s spine stiffened. “Don’t talk about Cas that way.”

The other man sipped his beer. “No harm, brother,” he responded in his Cajun drawl. “I can’t argue with the choice.”

“Why are you here?” Dean asked again. “No one is around to argue.”

Benny nodded and finished the beer, pushing it toward Dean for a refill. “There’s a delicate situation. They would like our assistance.”

““They,”” Dean sneered, “can kiss my ass.”

The other man grinned broadly. “You never change, Winchester.”

“Good.” Dean slid the refilled pint back across the bar. “Then you can finish that, on the house, and leave.”

“I can’t.” The other man sighed and clutched the beer, sliding a thick finger over the condensation. “We had an elite crew.”

“Had, Benny,” Dean emphasized. “Had. You and me, we made it out. They didn’t. The crew isn’t whole any longer.”

“They think they have us some new partners. I’ve met ‘em. Bright kids. Smart, quick and loyal,” he explained. “They’ve heard what we did.”

“Did they hear we got three kids killed? ‘Cause that is what we did. Young kids. We took them in and killed them. You tell them that?”

Strong hands came down on Dean’s shoulders and he tensed. “I think that it is time for Dean’s break,” came the deep, controlled voice behind him and Dean found his body letting go of the coiled tension. “Why don’t you head to the back, Dean? I think Ash has a bit of his new appetizers for you to sample. I’ll take the bar from here.”

Dean could hear the bite in the last few words that Cas uttered. He turned to leave the bar, his hand snagging against Cas’s in appreciation as he left.

Cas could feel the tension as Dean left and he slid his bar towel over one shoulder, hip casually leaned against the low bar. His eyes took in the other man, this soldier, and he could see how Dean would have been attracted to him.

“They sent you because of your relationship to Dean,” Cas said softly.

Benny nodded. “He was my immediate superior. We worked well together, him and me.”

Cas’s smile became a bit darker. “We don’t need pretenses between us. It doesn’t matter if your superiors acknowledged it or not. Rather not I expect, but that doesn’t make it any less real.” 

He was rewarded with a salute of the pint glass as the other man took a deep drink. At this Cas reached below and pulled out the vodka and two shot glasses. The corner of his eye caught movement and he adjusted just enough to glance slightly behind to the entrance to the kitchen.

Ellen stood there just in the shadow and nodded to him as she saw what he was doing. At that he was more inclined to trust his instinct. She knew the old Dean and he was getting to know the new Dean and for this he needed vodka and knew Ellen was headed outside to do what she did best. 

“You aren’t what I expected to find.”

Cas raised an eyebrow as he pushed one of the shot glasses toward the Southerner. “What did you expect?” he asked lightly.

Benny caressed the shot glass before lifting his pale eyes to meet those steady deep blue ones. “Someone weaker.”

“Then you don’t know Dean.”

“Oh, I know Dean,” came the chuckled response. “The breathy cries as I bent him in half. The frantic clutching as I took him from behind. The way he would beg as I held him down.”

“So it was all about you,” Cas stated blandly.

He was rewarded with a jerking from the bearded soldier. The meaty hand took the shot glass and he swallowed it down, slamming the glass on the dark wood. Cas slid his shot down smoothly, glad to have hit a nerve, and refilled the glasses. 

Benny’s eyes narrowed on his. “It was war and it was tough and we managed.”

“No, it was war and you took and that was it. He’s a man, not just a soldier. And he’s more than you make of him. Why are you here?”

“I was sent here,” he growled.

“And?” Cas shrugged. “Dean served his time. He has his scars. He’s done. You need to move on as well.”

“Can’t,” came the tired response. “We were an elite unit.” Benny stopped and licked his lips. “You didn’t know. Don’t know.”

“Dean doesn’t talk about his time in the military.”

The gruff man cursed under his breath and pushed the shot glass out for another pour. Cas obliged him while watching his reaction carefully. 

“Look. I need Dean to hear me out. But he isn’t going to do that unless the rest of you know the basics.”

“You leave now and I’ll tell them.” Both Cas and Benny turned to look. Dean stood at the bar entrance, eyes hard. “I’ll tell them tonight. But I don’t want you here for that and you won’t show back up until I call. You can leave a number on a napkin.”

Benny glanced at Dean, and then briefly at Ellen standing several steps behind him. “You’ll tell them? All of it?”

“In my own words I will,” Dean pledged. “And you’ll leave your number.”

Cas slid a cocktail napkin across the bar and pulled a pen from his apron. He watched Benny glance down to the napkin and back to Dean. Sensing something a bit ominous but trusting the grit in his gut that had him standing firm, shoulders straight as if he knew Dean was looking over one from a brief distance. Cas found his body hummed with the urge to move, to react, but he stood still. 

Benny sighed and reached for the napkin. He was efficient in writing down what was necessary, then he pushed back from the bar and stood straight, hat under his arm and eyes trained on Dean.

“You’ll call within twenty four hours?”

“No,” Dean replied. “I’ll talk to those that matter tonight. But this isn’t a quick decision. It may take a bit longer.”

“The Marines need you, Dean.”

“The Marines had me. They let me go with time served and an honorable discharge. And more than that. Which you need to leave now and respect my space to say.”

A few heartbeats later Benny turned slightly to Ellen and offered a bow. “Ma’am. Wonderful place you have here. Thanks for the beer.” With a calculated half turn he faced Cas across the bar. He gave a brusque nod. “Obliged.”

With that the trio watched the uniformed man walk out of the bar. They all relaxed as the door swung shut behind him though the patrons didn’t seem to sense the tension. 

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose and wished for another shot. The air stirred and he looked up to find both Dean and Ellen closer than before. He wanted to frown, to demand some answer but he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

“Last call is at nine thirty, Cas. Everyone out the door by ten.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it. Several questions flitted through his head, not the least was how he was supposed to convince the Thursday night crowd to leave early. They had only done it once in his entire time here and it was because someone had rented the place for a wedding rehearsal dinner. 

The clearing of his throat had Ellen shifting laser eyes at him. “Last minute private party?” he offered. 

Ellen sighed and her face softened. “Good idea. Can you work your charm?”

“Can I offer up to ten percent off for aggravation compensation?”

Her smile was wry but appreciative. “Yeah, Cas. Good thinking.” She tilted her head to look thoughtfully at him. “You have anything to say?”

“It’s your bar,” he responded respectfully.

“It is. And you have been here long enough to have an opinion that matters.”

He sighed and felt it to his toes. He didn’t want to look at Dean at all so he focused on his boss. “Family comes first. You taught me that. I think this matter affects the family. Whoever that is. So yes, the early close is warranted.”

“You don’t think you’re family, Cas?”

Internally he cursed at Dean’s softly spoken question. He hated his response, the internal clenching in his gut so he turned around. Both Dean and Ellen looked at him with open faces that truly wondered the answer to the question.

He licked his lips. “I feel like I am a cousin,” he explained slowly. “In the circle but not the inner circle. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

Ellen stepped up to the bar, her brow furrowed and her brown eyes keen on Castiel. “Cousin is the same as brother here. This family is a quilt made of odd fabrics and random scraps. Doesn’t mean it’s any less a quilt that keeps everyone warm and safe. Yeah?”

Cas ducked his head but nodded with a smile. “Yeah. I think we close early. I’ll work some charm, some discounts where needed. Can you ask Ash to make those fried macaroni and cheese ball things?”

The laugh was short but warm. “I think that is a great idea. I’ll throw in a pie or two and whip up a batch of chicken burritos. I think this conversation needs food.”

“I know this conversation needs food,” Dean muttered, turning toward the kitchen. “And a very large bottle of scotch.”


	21. Chapter 21

At ten minutes before ten, Dean watched Cas usher out the last customers with a smile even as he locked the door behind them. Jo had been sweeping and putting chairs up on tables for several minutes now. In the last hour he had watched the non-family wait staff get sent home a bit early, Ellen and Ash pitching in where necessary so they could wind everything down as quickly as possible. 

Dean found himself standing off to the side, in a darkish corner. He wasn’t exactly hiding but he was trying to calm himself down. He didn’t want to tell this story, didn’t want to reveal what had happened to him while serving his country. The magazine in his pocket still felt solid and secure and he used that to ground himself. 

Near the back end of the bar was one of those half circular booths. Jo and Ellen pulled up several chairs to ring around the outside of that booth and he knew it was soon to be his stage. 

Cas had moved back behind the bar and was wiping down the counter and putting the last used glasses in the small dishwasher. He moved gracefully as he checked the stock and made notes on what the staff needed to replace or replenish in the morning. Dean had gotten to know him well over their short time together and could see the tenseness in his shoulders. 

Dean found himself smiling softly as he watched Cas putter around and that helped lower his stress level. He watched Cas dig under the bar for a few moments and come up with a mostly full bottle of something amber. With a slight squint he could make out that it was a Balvenie, but wasn’t sure what year. No matter, Balvenie was a good, solid brand and one he knew many non-Scotch drinkers would accept a small glass of.

Apparently the family was taking this seriously. 

That thought caused him to curse to himself and look down, shifting on his feet in discomfort and frustration. When he looked up again, he found Cas’s eyes on him, steady. The dark headed man nodded toward the bottle and Dean shook his head. He needed a drink, or three, to get through this, but not Scotch. Even if he had said as much earlier.

Cas only nodded and turned away again, pulling up a metal bucket, filling it with ice and sliding in several beers. Dean had no doubt it contained a smattering of his favorites and he silently thanked Cas for knowing him that well.

Boisterous laughter and chatter filtered out from the kitchen as the swinging door opened and Ellen led the troops out, platters filled with food. Ellen had indeed whipped up her famous chicken burritos which scented the air with cheese and spices. Ash came bearing a tray laden with the mac & cheese balls that Cas had requested as well as crab cakes and an assortment of fresh fruit. Bobby followed behind, grumbling but carrying two pies that steamed with the fragrant flavors of cinnamon and apples.   
Dean licked his lips from his half hidden spot. Saul flitted into his mind. That made his spine straighten and forced him to take a deep breath. He needed to face this no matter how much he didn’t want to. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth as he willed himself to move forward. 

It was Cas that finally made him move. The other man set the bucket of beers on the booth table and then turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow before moving on to grab the tray of waters he had prepared for the group.

With reluctance, Dean slid out from his hiding spot and toward the group. It wasn’t a huge group and he had known them all for years, except Cas. They all talked and chatted as they filled their plates and ribbed each other. 

“You need to eat,” Cas offered in a low voice. 

Dean sighed. “I know. I’m not sure I can.”

Cas only nodded. “At least grab a few things to have handy if you need them, or need a moment.”

With a nod at the offered wisdom, Dean moved to grab a plate and filled it with the warm offerings. A chicken burrito still steaming and fragrant with sauce and cheese. A few strawberries, some mac & cheese balls and two crab cakes with a light drizzle of the remoulade sauce that he knew Ash made from scratch. 

He moved toward the booth table and propped his hips against it as he chose a beer and popped off the top. 

“Damn, boy,” Bobby hollered. “What the hell did you pour?”

Cas only raised a disinterested eyebrow. “It’s Balvenie, Bobby. Seventeen Year Peated Cask. Take your time with it.”

Ellen laughed and slapped Bobby on the shoulder. “Apparently Cas found the situation worthy of the genteel Scotch that you don’t know exists.”

Bobby huffed, looking into the glass. “I know it exists, alright. I just think it’s a bit fancy, is all.”

Jo sipped her glass and settled into a chair, balancing her plate on her lap. “I find it smooth and warm. I could get used to this.”

“Don’t,” barked Ellen. “Damned expensive habit.” But her warm brown eyes slid to Cas as she said it and she winked at him as she took her own glass. 

Dean reached out and broke off part of the crab cake on his plate and ate it. Surprisingly it didn’t turn his stomach so he ate a bit more, waiting for the throng to settle around him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t talked to them all before but in this format it was a bit intimidating. 

Chatter flowed around him for a few minutes as everyone got their food and drink and settled into seats. He wasn’t sure if they were forcing the conversation or if it was flowing naturally but when the back of his neck began to itch he cleared his throat loudly and everyone stopped talking to look at him. 

“Sorry.” Dean ducked his head. “I just…”

“Dean, it’s ok. We’re here to listen when you are ready to talk,” Ellen soothed. 

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready,” Dean muttered. 

“All the more reason,” Ash added. He shrugged when everyone turned to look at him. “What? Heavy shit lingers. The faster you talk about it, get it out, the better you are. It isn’t comfortable or pleasant, but damn does it work.” He saluted Dean with his glass. 

Dean gave a wry grin and raised his beer bottle. It would be Ash that cut through the bullshit. “Ok. So yeah. I was in the military, we all know that. I was a Marine. Navy Seals get most of the glory for Black Op type missions but they aren’t the only ones.”

Settling in, Dean shifted his hips comfortably against the table of the booth behind him and crossed his arms over his chest, beer still comfortably in one hand. He noticed that Cas was a bit more on the periphery of the group but he found that, for some reason, that grounded him rather than made him feel outcast. 

“After basic training, everyone gets evaluated in different areas. The powers that be want to know where you are strong, where you are weak and where you break down.” A rueful smile settled over his sensual mouth. “My superiors found out that I was good at making decisions under pressure and more than adequate with guns.

“As they evaluated the rest of the troops, a few of us emerged as a little different. They decided to form an elite team from those of us that scored, well, oddly on the tests.” Dean licked his lips as his mind settled back into his military past. “There were five of us. To look at us as a group, we didn’t look like much. Other teams laughed when they first had to come up against us in a challenge.”

He was unaware of the half laugh that shook his body and lit his face up with joy as he spoke. The others in the room didn’t miss it and they all tried to remain normal in their behaviors of eating and drinking though there was a thrum of energy that shot through them as they tried not to look at each other. 

“Damn,” Dean chuckled. “We were a motley crew. There I was, young and brash and scared shitless, put in charge of a group of guys worse off than me. First was Benny; he was my second. Big, burly guy with a beard just a hair too long for regulation and a Southern drawl so deep half the guys on base couldn’t understand him. But damned if the man wasn’t an expert with a blade and hand-to-hand combat.

“Then there was Garth. Damn tall, lanky dude. Carried around a sock puppet for some reason. Goofy as shit and the best damn communications guy I ever came across. Could talk to anyone about anything. Shorthand and messages that made sense to no one else, he could interpret. Saved our asses more times than I care to think about.”

He paused to take a sip of his beer and pop one of Ash’s mac & cheese balls into his mouth. It was just the right temperature and melted on his tongue. He took another sip of beer as he thought about continuing his story. As he began telling it, he started feeling better about letting himself speak about his history. 

“Adam was our sniper. Kid was young and almost greener than grass but you put a sniper rifle in his hand and he was instantly transformed. A bit aloof really, but being a sniper is lonely work.”

Dean bit his lip on an indulgent smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The last was Alfie. Damn kid was barely eighteen. When they gave him to me I thought he was fifteen and undernourished. Kid was a genius at recon. Could disappear, reappear, and sneak into or out of any camp, enemy or friendly, without leaving a trace. He was like a damn ghost.”

Setting aside his first beer, Dean popped the top to the second without a thought. He had realized that the crowd around him had gotten a bit quieter since he started talking. They were all close to done with the plates on their laps but he knew it wasn’t only that. Forcing himself to clear his throat, he pushed on. 

“That was our team. We did both Green Ops and Black Ops. Ya’ll probably get the point of Black Ops. With Green Ops we did deep recon into enemy territory though we took no direct action. Black Ops take the direct action.” Dean shrugged, shoulder blades itchy. “That’s simplified but I think you get the picture. Anyway-“ he shifted his hips against the table he was leaning on, “we did both. Separately and together. 

“In the beginning, newly formed teams primarily focus on Green Ops and let the experienced groups handle the Black Ops. Our team got quite good at it. For some reason, once we worked out the kinks and pet peeves, we really clicked as a group. We handled our missions quickly and well within targeted parameters.” He looked down at the beer bottle in his hands and let out of half sigh. “Maybe that was part of our problem. We were young for a team, age-wise and certainly in experience. But because we did so well, they started giving us more complex Green Ops, ones they usually saved for more experienced teams. And again, we outperformed expectations.”

The sound of a cell phone ringing cut through the air and Dean jumped. A few others muttered and shifted in their seats. 

It was Ash that hopped up. “Shit. Sorry, man.” He turned the phone off and looked sheepish as others looked at him with frowns. 

Dean nodded, pulse in his throat. Since the ringing that had startled him, he had tried not to look around but he almost had to. He had no idea how his story was being taken in by those closest to him and he needed to have some inkling. Knowing he hadn’t even gotten near the rough parts made him edgy and irritated. 

Dean’s eyes flicked up as he watched a large glass of water with two lemons on the rim slide close to his bucket of beer. He gave a small smile to Cas for the bit of comfort. Deciding to get more comfortable, he pushed things back on the table and sat on it. This way he could let his legs swing a little and could also clutch the edge of the table when he needed some additional support.

He popped a large piece of crab cake into his mouth and hummed around the burst of flavor on his tongue. With a rough throat clearing, he drew the attention of his audience and decided to push on. If he stopped now he would never get it finished. 

“So,” he began, eyes flicking around the group. “Benny was the oldest among us, the one with the most experience, even though I was in charge. It was never a problem between us though, not really. The other guys were easy going enough and just wanted to do their jobs. And then a bit later, well, we all just wanted to stay alive.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “So, like I said, our team got really damn good. We were being sent out on dangerous Green Ops that began to border on something gray or even black.” He shrugged. “But we survived so we kept going when they sent us. We’d been sent out on a Green Op to do some deep recon and set up for a hostage rescue. We were to go in deep, setup some surveillance, and scout out possible landing and extraction points. Then things went to hell.” 

Cas watched as Dean rolled his tense shoulders. He wanted to move forward, to touch him on the arm but this was something that Dean had to do himself. Unable to stop himself, Cas shifted his body a bit in the tense air and just managed to look up to find Ellen’s eyes on him. She nodded and he let out a deep breath as quietly as he could and gave a slight nod back. His whole body felt edgy. Dean wasn’t a natural storyteller but he had a rhythm and rough way of speaking that brought the story to life. 

“This was a few years after our team was formed. We were a well-oiled unit. In the field we communicated with hand gestures, certain looks and the odd whistle.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Though we had a reputation in the larger group, we weren’t without our injuries and failures. One easy mission had turned sour and ended up with Benny shot in the leg, Garth’s communication equipment shot to hell and our sniper with a dislocated shoulder.” He licked his lips, eyes on the label of the beer bottle he was peeling with a nervous finger. “I’m not saying this shit to get sympathy, but I want you to try and understand what it was like. We were good, sometimes too good, but we were also just men out there. Boys, really,” and that last was barely whispered.

A soft throat clearing had the group shuddering as they were jolted out of the story. “Dean, you’re in a safe place here. A place that is home. No one here doubts that you and your men were just that, men. You had a duty and you did it. You’ll never be challenged on that, Son,” Bobby’s softly gruff voice slid into the air, his eyes firmly on the ex-soldier. “So don’t waste words on us. You and your men were good soldiers. So, Idjit, you say what you need to say and we’ll hear it through.”

Dean found himself chuckling with the normalcy of the way Bobby spoke to him. It broke the heavy line of tension in his body and allowed him to swig back the last of his beer and reach for another. 

“Ok, boys and girls, Bobby asked for it. So we went out on this op, doing our recon, planted some sensors and identified the extraction point. Then all went to hell. We were boxed in on three sides. The last side being over the enemy line.” The smile in his voice had faded and he stared off into the distance. “Benny and I were hidden in a deep copse of bushes. Though we led, we were really grunts. Get ‘em in to the point, let ‘em go until they came back, and then get ‘em back out. It was the long off soft pops of the sniper rifle that reached my ears first. Almost like a twitch in my bones. Benny and I looked at each other in panic as we had heard nothing from the team in about twenty minutes. Our rule was contact every fifteen. Not overt contact, nothing to alert to our positions, and often enough Alfie sliding between the groups to make contact one-on-one for more solid intel. Given that lack, on our bellies we crawled to the edge of our hiding place to see what was up.”

He let out a huff of breath, lost in the memory. “All we could see was smoke. All we heard was static. We couldn’t leave; that was protocol. It was Alfie that reached us first, blood running down one side of his head, left arm useless at his side. There had been a rebel uprising, unexpected and unpredicted. Adam was stuck in a tree, popping off shots conservatively but with the forethought to keep the rest of us alive. He had spoken with Garth before heading back to us. We decided to move forward, to get our men, our team.”

Dean knew his pulse was up, his heartbeat erratic. This wasn’t an easy memory for him. “So we moved quickly and quietly since Alfie knew the way. We came up on the camp pretty quickly. Because of Adam’s position we had come up a bit around the way but close enough we could signal or reach him if needed. Then we saw that they had Garth.”

His head slipped up at the soft gasp to see that Ellen’s eyes were wide with unshed tears, her hand reaching out and Jo grasping it with a similar expression on her young face. Bobby’s face was set in a hard line, steeling himself, Dean knew. Ash looked a bit dazed and Dean knew his awesome brain was processing each minute detail as much as possible. 

Sam, well, Sammy looked pale and vaguely distraught. His younger brother always had a deep capacity to understand the suffering of the rest of humanity. It’s what made him a formidable lawyer. Then there was Cas. His lover stood there as calmly as he had ever seen him. Blue eyes were steady and focused. It was the tic in his jaw and the way he watched Cas’s elegant hand clench around his whiskey glass that gave him away to Dean.

Ducking his head, he fought off a small smile. He found it odd he could smile in the retelling, reliving really, of this story. But he was truly surrounded by family and those that loved him. Cas hadn’t said the words and neither had he, but he’d face a firing squad of snipers as good as Adam to protect Cas.

“Damn goofy dude had managed to smash the communications equipment before they took him. He was on his knees, one eye swollen shut, body bruised and battered by the way he held himself. It was the sight of that fucking sock puppet that did me in.” He found that he could actually chuckle through the tears burning in his eyes and throat. “The rebel had pulled it from his pocket and twisted it this way and that before throwing it on the ground and stomping on it.”

A slight whimper came from his audience but Dean only clutched his beer harder. 

“At that Garth looked down at his sock puppet, eyes bleak and full of sorrow. His name was Mr. Fizzles. Damn sock puppet,” he ended with a mutter. “I didn’t even have to look. I knew. I just knew and I gave the signal,” his voice broke. “Adam took the shot. Took it so that Garth wouldn’t suffer. And we couldn’t risk it. We weren’t supposed to be there, weren’t supposed to engage.

“But that wasn’t the only reason,” his voice was a soft drone. “We’d seen what this particular group of rebels could do, would do. Already they had broken each finger on Garth’s right hand. One had a long knife and was lazily cutting deep cuts into his other arm and poking shallow stabs into his stomach. There was no way they would have left him alive. They would have tortured him as long as possible, cutting off body parts, burning him with cigarettes and gun muzzles.” He swallowed hard. “So I had Adam take the shot.”

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back toward the ceiling. “It was Benny that stood straight and looked at me. Garth was ours and we weren’t going to leave without him. Beside him Alfie’s eyes blazed with rage and he clutched his gun. Kid only had one working arm.” He ran hands over his face, tears smearing over the freckled skin. “Kid wanted to go in. He wanted to do it and wanted me to tell him to do it. So I did.

“The three of us charged into the camp, knowing that Adam had our backs from the trees. We were outnumbered five to one but we didn’t care. Garth was ours and we were taking him home.” He closed his eyes again, remembering blood and pain and fear. “We were like animals. Benny cut so many down with his machete. He was damn good with that weapon. I popped off shots with my hand guns, aiming to kill rather than wound. Little Alfie was taken down by two rebels when Benny and I were turned away and Adam was focused on taking down the group running at us from the far hut.”

“Dean,” Sam’s ragged voice cut through the bloated silence. He licked his lips, cheeks pale and eyes bright. “You don’t have to do this.” 

“Yeah, Sammy, I do,” he disagreed, shooting a soft smile at his brother. “I have to tell it, but you don’t have to listen. These men, they deserve their story. And yeah, it’s my version, and Benny might have a different one, but it’s still worthy of the telling.”

Sam clamped his lips together and nodded at Dean, nostrils flaring as he took in a deep breath. Dean appreciated that his younger brother tried to give him an out, but he also knew that meant that Sam would never truly grasp what he had been through. And that wasn’t a fault in his brother, in fact, he was glad for it so that his brother could live a normal life. 

“The three of us managed to kill or wound enough of them that the rest backed off. Benny grabbed Garth and I got Alfie. We headed back towards Adam, knowing he had us covered. Once we reached the trees he hopped down. Benny and I trudged forth with Adam taking the rear, eyes open for any rebel stragglers.” He blew out a deep breath as his eyes glazed over. “We missed the fact that a few rebels had been tracking us from the side. It was probably how Garth got nabbed. It was Adam’s cry that alerted us to them. They hit him in the shoulder with a shot which threw off his aim and made his rifle practically worthless. I turned back to help him but he was running toward me, waving me off with his good arm.”

Dean huffed. “I couldn’t stop myself from heading toward him. I just knew if I got one arm around him I could still get him and carry Alfie. Well, the rebels had thrown some kind of grenade or bomb of some sort. Adam took a dive to try and shield me from it. Alfie was over my right shoulder, in a fireman’s carry. Adam didn’t dive far enough and I managed to get too close. He took the brunt of it, shrapnel ripping through his face and neck. I took what he didn’t block down my left torso. He and Alfie blocked me from the worst of it.”

He chugged the last of his almost too warm beer, needing to wet his dry mouth in order to push through. “Next thing I remember is Benny. I was half cradled under his body in deep brush. And then the pain.” He licked his lips. “Somehow Benny managed to cobble together enough pieces of equipment to get a radio signal out. And he hid us until help was on the way.”

He put down the beer bottle with a soft thunk. “They never did recover Garth, Adam or Alfie. Benny had to leave them behind to save me. They were good men and they shouldn’t have died and they shouldn’t have been left behind.” His eyes, bleak and dry, flitted over the group. “And now they are asking me to come back. Benny has apparently been sent here to ask me to come back.”

The room was silent after he finished speaking. His head hurt, not from the beer or the lack of food, but from reliving the nightmare. A soft scuffling brought his head up again and he watched as Jo made her way to the food at the bar and then came back and handed him a plate with gently steaming piece of mixed berry pie.

She shrugged her shoulders at him, eyes dark with worry and lingering tears. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she offered gently.

Dean half sobbed a laugh. “Pie is always good, Jo. Always.”

With that she gave a strangled cry and threw her arms around his neck. He sat awkwardly with pie in one hand and Jo in the other. It was surreal and weird and perfectly alright at the same time. 

Jo stepped back and wiped the back of her hand over her eyes. With a deep breath she straightened her shoulders. “I can say that I really don’t know what to say. Your story is horrible and tragic and lots of words I can’t find to say what I mean. But I am glad to call you my family, Dean. That will never change.”

“Thanks, Jo,” his voice was thick with emotion and unresolved anguish.

Ellen took the reins after that, standing up and offering pie to everyone. Everyone slowly shuffled forward, eyes sliding to Dean and then away as they moved toward the food. It was Cas that kept his eyes on Dean and moved closer as everyone edged away.

Dean swallowed hard as Cas approached and occupied himself with cutting a very easily swallowed piece of pie with his fork. “Hey, Cas,”

“Dean.” Cas’s tone was even but still had Dean’s startled green eyes shooting up with his heart in his throat. “I know I jokingly refer to you as “soldier” but the title has never been more appropriate to any man I have known. Please know that when I say it, it is with respect and awe, and more emotion than I can hope to express.”

Biting his lip, Dean looked at Cas and saw acceptance and a hint of anxiety. Cas was afraid that Dean wouldn’t accept his understanding. He glanced down at his hand, at the plate of pie and turned the fork toward the other man. “Ellen makes good pie. Care for a bite?”

Cas smiled and opened his mouth to accept the fork that Dean offered.


	22. Chapter 22

Dean woke up and rolled over, blindly reaching out but finding the bed next to him both empty and cool. That made him blink and sit up. Cas loved sleep. It was extremely rare for Cas to be up at - he glanced over at the clock - four in the morning. 

With a frown, he tossed back the covers and got out of bed. The small night light from the bathroom and the one in the kitchen gave him enough light to pad out into the living room. Cas wasn’t there either. He checked his room and bathroom just to be sure, but the other man wasn’t in the apartment. 

Since he was just in boxers, he went back into the bedroom to slip on his jeans and a tshirt, but left his feet bare. Something niggled his brain and he decided to head down to The Roadhouse. Technically it was too early for anyone to be there but something made him head there. 

Light strains from the piano greeted him before he was at the bottom of the stairs. He paused, glad he hadn’t put on any shoes, and eased the door open quietly and slid in among the shadows. At first he wasn’t sure if Cas was playing an actual song or just letting his hands flow along the keyboard.

The piano was up on that raised stage and though none of The Roadhouse’s main lights were on, the lights from the parking lot were on and filtered in through the window, casting a halo of light around Cas. Dean had thought him an angel before, now, with his head bowed over the keyboard, bathed in the pale light, he knew that he was his personal angel. 

Neither one of them was perfect. Dean knew he was crass and hot headed and resorted to sarcasm when he needed to hide. Cas was a bit of a perfectionist, bossy and hardheaded. Cas was a bed hog, liked to sleep late but was equally as adamant about getting his run in. Dean would rather drink beer and eat pizza, but they found ways to compromise. Maybe that’s what made it work.

Though Dean listened to very little music that wasn’t classic rock, the piano chords began to make a little sense in his mind. The tune was a little pulsing, a little haunting, and then Cas began to sing:

All along it was a fever  
A cold sweat hot-headed believer  
I threw my hands in the air, said show me something  
He said, if you dare come a little closer

Round and around and around and around we go  
Oohhh now tell me now tell me now tell me now you know

Not really sure how to feel about it  
Something in the way you move  
Makes me feel like I can't live without you  
It takes me all the way  
I want you to stay  
It's not much of a life you're living  
It's not just something you take, it's given

Round and around and around and around we go  
Oohhh now tell me now tell me now tell me now you know

Not really sure how to feel about it  
Something in the way you move  
Makes me feel like I can't live without you  
It takes me all the way  
I want you to stay

Oohh the reason I hold on  
Oohh cause I need this hole gone  
Funny you're the broken one but I'm the only one who needed saving  
Cause when you never see the light it's hard to know which one of us is caving

Not really sure how to feel about it  
Something in the way you move  
Makes me feel like I can't live without you  
It takes me all the way  
I want you to stay... Stay...  
I want you to stay, Ooooohh

Dean’s breath eased out of him raggedly as the song came to an end. Cas had sung it quietly, not quite whispering, but more that he was singing the song to himself. As the last notes slid away in the air, Dean moved out from the shadows, his feet only making soft sounds on the floor. 

Cas glanced up sharply and then exhaled and smiled. “Hey, Dean.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not really. And I couldn’t get comfortable and didn’t want to wake you.” His head tilted in that way Dean found adorable. “So I came down here to play a little.”

“Cas, do you mean it?”

“Mean what, Dean?”

He gnawed at his lower lip. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes.”

“That simple?”

Cas smiled. “Yes, Dean. That simple. No other questions, no wondering.”

Dean thought through the words of the song. “So you do think I’m broken?”

The other man sighed heavily though he stayed sitting. “The words of the song aren’t necessarily literal.”

“Close enough though.” It was a statement not a question. 

Cas looked down at his hands and nodded. “I told you once we are all broken, it’s just a matter of degrees. I don’t know what else you want me to say, Dean. I want you to stay. I want you to be with me. Do I think you have issues to work through, then yes.”

“I know I do, Cas. And I don’t think I can do that without you.”

“Then don’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean shuffled on his feet. “I thought that telling you my story might change your mind.”

“Your story is terrible and heart wrenching. You were a soldier and you did what was expected of you. You led your men, you tried to keep them safe and war killed them. Not you.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to wake up strangling you again,” he admitted. 

Cas shrugged. “It comes to mind from time to time, but you haven’t done that since the first time. You’ve gotten better since you came home. The nightmares seem to be coming less and are less intense when they do come.”

Dean nodded. “They are. And I’m glad. I think that I have you to partly thank for that.”

“You know, in regard to the lyrics of the song, maybe you are broken, Dean, but you really did save me. For years I wondered why Ellen took me in. Not long after you came back I told her I finally knew why as soon as I saw you.” He ducked his head. “You have always been there in the background, apparently. When you came back, when you came home, that hole within me was filled.”  
Dean felt swallowed through the emotions that slid through him and had to clear his throat. Cas was so beautiful to him. A beautiful beacon of light that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. So he took a deep breath and reached into his right front pocket, flicking this thumb once before drawing his hand out. He closed the few steps that were between them.

“Would you...would you hold this for me?”

Cas glanced at his offered hand and then back to his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“No, and that’s why I want you take it. I still have a bullet in my pocket. The magazine holds thirteen but I have been able to take a few out,” he explained. “When I first got out of the military, I had to have the gun fully loaded, one in the chamber, with me at all times.” He licked his lips. “I’ve slowly made progress in being less dependent. Since I got here, back home, I have mostly been able to leave the gun unloaded. I started to carry just the magazine and it still made me feel grounded.”

With steady eyes that never left Dean’s, Cas reached out to take the magazine from him. 

Dean let out a shuddering breath. “I have been able to take a few bullets out, they’re in the top drawer of the dresser in my room. I don’t know how many are left and I don’t want to count them.”

Cas nodded, recognizing the strength and trust this took. “Ok. What do you want me to do?”

“Uh, could you keep it on you if we aren’t in the apartment? In your pocket or whatever? Even down here?”

“Sure. In the apartment is it safe for me to put it in the top drawer of my nightstand?”

“Yeah. That will work great.”

Pushing up from the piano bench, Cas took a few steps toward him. “Thank you for trusting me with this, Dean.”

He reached out to cup Cas’s cheek. “It’s more than trust, Cas. I’m pretty sure I love you.”

Cas chuckled and stepped into his arms. “I’m pretty sure I love you too, Dean Winchester.”

“Well, now that’s done, I need you to meet someone. She’s pretty important to me.”

Dean hid his grin at the way Cas cocked his head in contemplation and confusion. He found it adorable. “I’m happy to meet anyone you want, Dean. I’m just surprised I haven’t met her yet.”

He slung an arm over Cas’s shoulder and turned them to face the windows where the sky was beginning to lighten as the day dawned. “She’s my Baby, Cas. Been with me through a lot. Bobby took care of her while I was gone.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Are you talking about a car?”

“Not just any car!” he huffed. “Baby. She’s a 1967 Impala. Black and shiny and sleek. I think you’re going to love her.”

Cas rested his head on the taller man’s shoulder and sighed. “Fine. I will meet your “Baby”. I’m sure she will be going everywhere we go.”

Dean watched the sun begin to rise in the horizon. With Baby on the road and Cas by his side, he knew he could do anything, go anywhere. Even to hell and back.


End file.
